


Angel of War

by Sleepy_Writer



Series: Angel of War [1]
Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mpreg, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 49,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7218292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_Writer/pseuds/Sleepy_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Judgement was passed. He is of the Horseman War now… but is that truly such a punishment to the Archangel Azrael?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

“You are to be banished for three centuries, during which you will only set foot in the White City or any places under Heaven’s control if and when you have been summoned.” Raphael stated evenly, his hands folded in front of him. “During these years, you are under control of the Horseman War unless summoned by Heaven.”  
Azrael’s eyes widened, not out of shock at the harshness of the sentence, but rather at the leniency of it all. This was his punishment for aiding Abaddon in destroying the Third Kingdom and starting the Endwar early!? Granted, the exact depth of his sin had escaped Heaven, most angels assuming that he had been tricked into it, not knowing what the General had intended, but still…  
The Assembly departed, leaving the Archangel on his spot on the center floor. He looked up when Raphael flew down to him, pointedly ignoring a couple of angels that seemed to hesitate to approach him.  
Raphael did briefly watch them, wondering at them simply leaving after those few moments of hesitation.  
“Was that for real?” Azrael demanded as his fellow angel touched down upon the ground in front of him. “Raphael, my stupidity ended the Third Kingdom. I ought to be cast into Hell, not the Horseman’s keeping!”  
“No one is perfect, Azrael.” The other angel was dressed in armor. He was formidable, perhaps not to the level of Abaddon – who had been the finest warrior Heaven ever produced – but he had been one of the few who could give the former General some real trouble in a fight and could even best him. “Besides, this arrived earlier today… by crow.”  
“Crow…?” Azrael echoed, taking the small roll. Opening it, he saw only a few sentences. Immediately his eyes flitted to the name at the bottom. “Wait, War sent this?”  
“Yes.” His opposite nodded. “I daresay Heaven can reap the benefits of this deal.”  
Only now Azrael looked at the actual message. For the first time in a good while, he was speechless. “Non-attacking of Heaven in exchange for leniency on me? Why?”  
“It does not tell.” The other angel shrugged lightly. “But War is honorable, all things taken into account. We were unanimous that we should take this offer.”  
“Why would he…?” Azrael could not comprehend why the Horseman would protect him so, despite his statement of him killing all that schemed with Abaddon. Had he decided the Archangel had redeemed himself after all the aid he had rendered? It seemed that the Horsemen had taken the place of the destroyed Charred Council…  
“You will leave after a short stop to take what you need from your home.” Raphael ignored the other’s confusion. “The crow carried another note telling us to send you to… ‘the Return from Truth’, wherever that may be. I assume you know?”  
It took the scribe a few moments until he realized what was meant: the place in the Ashlands where he had taken War after Eden. “Yes, yes, I know where that is.”

Hesitantly he appeared above the appointed place, looking around. It seemed they were not expecting him this quickly. Slowly he descended towards the ground, still all senses in high-alert.  
“You can come down fully now!” A voice sharply called up. Recognizing it as War’s, Azrael obediently touched down on the ground, wondering where the Rider was.  
He cried out in surprise when a powerful punch hit him between his wings, sending him down onto the ground. Entirely quicker than he would have expected the Horseman to move, a heavy weight was on top of him, sword against his neck. He regretted having exchanged his formal robes for a more sedate outfit, no golden arch of his rank protecting his neck now…  
“What did they sentence you to?” War’s non-golem hand pushed down between Azrael’s shoulders, not hard enough to hurt or even cause discomfort, but certainly enough that the angel knew better than to try to move anything. The massive sword tingled with its’ otherworldly energies against his neck, causing his hair to stand upright.  
“I… I am banished from Heaven and its’ outposts - unless summoned - for three centuries.” Azrael wondered if he could risk shifting, one of his wings caught rather painfully between him and the knee of the male on top of him. On the other hand, the pain did keep him nicely occupied. “I am under your watch for that time.”  
The Red Rider rose then, offering a hand to the angel he had bowled over. Azrael rolled his wing when he stood again, rather awkwardly trying not to look the armored male in the face.  
It worked about half a minute, at which point the massive golem-arm shot out and latched onto the scholar’s slender neck. His eyes widened, suddenly a horrible thought coming to him: what if War had demanded leniency from the White City so he could be the one to kill Azrael? It would be out of character certainly, but so had been many things this last century and the Horseman would not be the first to surprise people.  
“And you better behave well enough that I do not tell the truth to the other angels.” War snarled, lifting the white-eyed male clean of his feet. “Your deeds gave you a second chance. Do. Not. Waste. It. Am I clear?”  
He certainly had no intention of doing that. Azrael nodded as much as he could with the metal hand under his chin, sighing in relief when he was dropped once more, though he stumbled rather badly at the short drop combined with the awkward balance of his massive wings.  
“Come then.” War turned on his heels, marching over to where the bridge was – if one wore a Mask of Shadows or knew another way to pierce that veil. Obediently, the mystic followed.


	2. 2

“If I may…” Azrael asked when War jumped down to the ground, summoning Ruin. “Do… do the Horsemen know?”  
“Of course.” The Red Rider almost absent-mindedly stated, turning to Azrael. “Did you expect I’d not tell them?”  
“I… have grown unsure as to what to expect these days.” The Archangel admitted, barely keeping from crying out in surprise when the Horseman grabbed his leg and dragged him down. He winced in pain at the saddle-knob digging into his back, folding his wings tightly. “War? What…?”  
“Our home is supposed to be hidden, not open for all.” The Horseman easily pierced the veil between worlds, disappearing from the Ashlands. Ruin seemed to have no problem with the imbalance of weight on his back.  
Azrael blinked, a small blush appearing on his face at being this close to the youngest Nephilim. The mas-sive golem-arm held him steady and instinctively he reached for the other’s neck to hold onto.  
They appeared in a world of stone and rock, high ravine-walls rising around them. Untangling himself, Azrael took to the sky again.  
For a while they travelled onward in silence, Azrael just a few wing-beats behind the flaming horse.  
“I was not aware the Horsemen had taken to living together.” He finally whispered, the silence growing oppressive.  
“It’s rather recent.” War briefly glanced at him. “A month ago, in fact.”  
A month ago Uriel had broken the Seventh Seal, freeing the Horsemen from the grip of the Charred Council. Which had promptly resulted in the destruction of said Council because of its’ perceived treachery.  
“Ah…” Azrael folded his hands in his sleeves, trepidation growing when they passed a bend and came face to face with a massive structure. There was no way they could have built it this quickly! “How did you…?”  
“It was already here, a remnant of the original people of this planet.” War calmly led the way. “The Makers helped us restore it to its’ old glory.”  
“Are we… on Earth?” Azrael whispered, hesitating briefly before he followed the rider over the open plain. The Horseman did not answer.  
The Archangel froze when the wall melted open, revealing three forms he had not seen for a very long time: the other three Horsemen. For the first time in a good while, he felt fear.  
“Are you coming?” War demanded, half-turned to look at the angel. “You do not want to be outside at night here, let me tell you.”  
Trying to keep his emotions in check, the Gatekeeper followed obediently. He flinched at the furious looks the others gave him. Touching down on the ground, he tried to hold Death’s gaze, only to fail miserably.  
Looking at the ground, he missed the movement of Fury, only alerted to what happened by the crackle of thunder. Electricity arched through his body, making the mystic cry out in pain. He fell to his knees when something hit the back of his legs, dual scythes appearing against his neck even before he could register that Death was now behind him. Wide eyes fixed upon the barrels of both Mercy and Redemption, Strife’s face unreadable underneath his helmet.  
Though he could potentially have freed himself – though probably not for long if they truly desired his death – Azrael seemed to almost relax in his confinement, eyes sliding close as he waited for the Horsemen to do what they wished.  
“Are you that eager to get your brains plastered all over the place?” Strife demanded, the single barrel of Redemption pressing against the angel’s forehead. “I feel inclined to oblige.”  
No one said anything for a while after that, but in the end the cool metal of the gun disappeared at the same time Fury pulled her whip free. With a rather hard shove by Death, Azrael fell to the ground, scraping his cheek on the cruel rock of the Horsemen’s abode. His gasp was muffled by the eldest Horseman planting his foot on the angel’s neck.  
“Remember well that you live by our grace, Azrael.” The Firstborn stated, briefly shoving down with his foot before leaving the scholar on the ground to walk back into the fortress. The other two followed him, not looking back once.  
“It’s getting dark.” War finally took the angel’s arm, dragging him up. “Come.”  
“What is out here that is so dangerous?” Azrael demanded, allowing the other to pull him inside while using his free hand to soothe his stinging cheek.  
“Creatures of Old.” Was the only answer as War led him up several flights of stairs. “Well, if you are my charge now, we’ll need to establish some rules.”  
Azrael’s pride demanded he retaliate about that. He was not some unruly child that needed to be told what to do! But in the end he swallowed it, unwilling to risk angering his jailor this quickly. “Yes?”  
“Firstly, do not leave the building after sundown.” War let go of his arm, opening a door leading into an-other corridor. “Secondly, you might be my charge, but you will obey my siblings just as much. Thirdly, you will not open any pathways between realms, of any kind and for any reason that does not involve ‘only way to stay alive’. Fourthly, you will not use any great magics, again the only exception being when it is a matter of survival.”  
“I understand.” The scholar followed him on foot, wings too massive to fly in this narrow corridor. Inside his robes, his hands were fists, nails driving themselves into his flesh. He managed to keep his voice even. “Anything else?”  
“Aside from that you are free to do as you desire, save leave this valley.” War stopped at a door up another flight of stairs. “This is one of the extra bedrooms. You can use it.” He moved past the mystic, descending down the stairs again.  
Azrael sighed, pushing open the door. It was sparse, as one would expect of people who were mostly away from home. A substantial closet, a bed – which was surprisingly luxurious though – and a desk with chair were the only pieces of furniture inside. A glass door opened to a balcony that seemed to circle the entire tower from what he saw through some of the other windows and looked out over a gigantic inner courtyard. Azrael did not open the thick glass, but peered outside regardless. It seemed the building had a rough triangular shape, with his tower at one of the corners.  
Idly, he opened the closet even as he pulled a small box from inside one of his sleeves. Absentmindedly he threw the box onto the bed, cancelling the enchantment that kept it miniaturized. It grew rather massive, easily as wide as his arms.  
Sighing softly, briefly closing his eyes he then opened it and started to hang the clothes inside into the closet. Halfway through, he leaned forward and rested his hand on one of the planks as he shuddered when it hit him exactly how his punishment would be. Wisest of the angels he might be, but Azrael was not sure how he’d survive 300 years of this hate and animosity.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days Azrael spent mostly evading the Horsemen and looking through the substantial fortress they had claimed. Despite its’ size and clear refurbishing, the massive structure was mostly empty. Only the wing at the front was really being used, the other two spokes of the triangle being mostly abandoned.  
For the most time, he was alone, the Horsemen securing their new home.   
Well, unless one counted Death’s small army worth of ghouls... The Archangel had nearly blasted part of a hallway when first stumbling on one of the Horsemen’s ‘servants’.  
Thinking that at least it could not be worse than that – they seemed to have a moderate concept of hygiene at least – the angel had been sorely mistaken.  
All four gathered around dinner-time from their respective rounds and insisted he’d join them. Though the time spent together at the table served to have them open up a bit to him, the angel at first wondered if they were playing some joke on him.  
Meat... That was literally all they seemed to eat. Not even herbs or anything.  
It made sense: the Nephilim had always been busy conquering and destroying which probably did not make for many chances to gain culinary skills, but still! Had the Horsemen never felt the need to eat anything else?  
Despite soon craving anything aside from meat, he dared not complain and so ate what he was served. At least after the first day they no longer gave him the same amounts they themselves ate. He was quite certain the meat the last four Nephilim ate in one sitting would have lasted an angelic family for a week.  
“Strife, tomorrow it’s your turn.” Death said on the fifth day the mystic was with them. “I have been cooking since we got here.”  
Fury and War flinched at that and even Strife himself looked like he was about to complain.  
“Brace yourself.” War whispered at Azrael’s confused expression when Death sent a rather potent glare towards the Gunner. “Once the dinner he was making crawled away...”  
Azrael’s eyes widened at that and he fixed his gaze to his plate. He paid little attention to what they said, swallowing a couple times at the prospect of even more Nephilim-food... Worse, Nephilim-food even the Nephilim themselves would not want to eat.  
“I can cook.” The scholar hesitantly spoke up. “I have nothing to do anyway...”  
“I didn’t know you could cook.” Death spoke up after a surprised silence.  
“I protect the Well from outside interference.” Azrael dryly countered. “That includes the presence of any other life-form, even angels. I have to cook myself whenever I am not in the White City or one of the Outposts. So yes, I can cook. I’d just... need to conjure some things.” He looked around the ‘kitchen’, which was no more than a fire-pit and a table.  
“What would you need to conjure?” War demanded, looking at the angel beside him.  
“Odd and ends... some extra food-things...” Azrael looked away, looking at the fire-pit. “Angelic recipes call for some more things than only ‘meat’. I’d need other things to make them properly.”  
“You ought to have warned us angels have a different diet from Nephilim.” Death accused him, voice even. “Very well, you will cook tomorrow then. Will you require assistance?”  
“Perhaps...” The angel looked away. “Some of the things taste better when collected, rather than created from air... but...”  
The area around their fortress was desolate, only a bit of moss growing on some of the rocks. No plant-life, no animals save massive creatures that roamed the skies at night and that even the Horsemen seemed loath to challenge if it could be helped. From what he had gathered when Death had requested his assistance in making a map of their rides into the surrounding lands, that was all there was.  
“I’m supposed to leave at midday tomorrow, I can take you somewhere before that.” War offered, realizing what his charge meant: he’d need to leave, but had been forbidden from doing just that. “You’ll have to get up early though.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
By the time Azrael arrived in the entrance hall the next morning, War was already waiting for him.   
Petting Ruin on his neck, War saw Azrael heading towards him. Looking briefly surprised that the Archangel had chosen to wear pants, he enquired. “What exactly are the items you need?”  
“Mostly plantlike things...” Azrael tilted his head in thought, shifting the bag he had slung around him. “The realm of the Makers would be best. Near a river and forest, if possible.”   
War mounted Ruin and then leaned forward to help Azrael up. “Come here.” He was somewhat amused that the angel decided to hold onto his middle when the slender male was seated behind him. He could feel the hesitation of the other at the move.   
Arriving at the Maker’s realm, Azrael breathed an unnoticeable sigh of relief when he could take to the skies. “This is a good spot, thank you.”  
Telling Ruin to wait where they arrived so he’d not torch the place down, War followed the angel, watching as the scholar flew out over the river and with a brief glow of his hands lifted several fish from the clear waters and well onto the rocky shore. Actually touching down, the mystic then started looking through the grasses at the edge.  
“Why do you even eat plants?” War asked, shuddering lightly at the thought. “We only eat them in emergencies because they taste horrible.” He frowned a bit at the trace of amusement appearing on the angel’s face.   
“Then you never ate them properly.” Azrael’s voice actually sounded like he was joking. The thought that one of the feared Horsemen hated green food amused the scholar.   
A wide smile appeared on his face when he saw a particular plant. Reaching over, he pulled it from the ground and raised an eyebrow at the face War made when recognizing it.  
“Do we have to eat those?” The Red Rider demanded, disgust clear on his face. The thing the Archangel held in his hand was one of those ‘emergency-plants’ the Nephilim had had and it certainly had been the worst of them too.  
“You’ll see this evening.” Azrael couldn’t quite stop the snort of amusement at War’s reaction to potatoes of all Heaven-given plants. Laying the cluster down beside the fish, he turned his attention to their surroundings again.  
After half an hour, he had found all he needed. He’d have to create the rest from scratch, since he doubted War would allow him to go to another realm for those things.


	4. Chapter 4

When they arrived at the Fortress War secretly admitted to himself that he felt almost disappointed when the angel let go of him. Seeing his siblings coming towards them on their own respective steeds, he yelled a warning. “Azrael found the roots!”  
Death’s face was unmoved, but Strife muttered darkly that perhaps people shouldn’t complain about him.  
“Why the Hell did you not stop him, War!?” The Gunner demanded, Fury nodding in agreement as Azrael just disappeared into the building.  
“I tried! But according to him, we never ate it properly.” War defended himself. He felt insulted that his siblings immediately ganged up on him.   
“Leave War be, we'll see what the angel will create for us.” Death stopped the others from retaliating, gesturing they should go about their assignments.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Many hours later, Death was the first to arrive back at the fortress. Nearing the kitchen-area, he noticed a very nice smell. But the moment he stepped into the room, the smell was all but forgotten. He blinked a couple times, wondering if perhaps he had taken a wrong turn somehow and ended up in a different fortress.  
“Hello Death.” Azrael was sitting on the table, one eye on a massive clay-structure to the side. “Want some tea?” He offered an empty cup to the Horseman and gestured with it to the kettle he had standing beside the fire-pit. “Hot though.” He seemed more relaxed than the Horseman had seen him for days.  
“What did you do?” Death demanded, looking at the changes in the room. There seemed to be cabinets on the far wall, then there was that weird clay-structure and what seemed to be a water-pump with bowl underneath near the table. He took the empty cup absentmindedly, not really noticing the angel filling it with hot liquid.  
“These are some of the things I need for cooking.” Azrael answered him. He sipped at his tea, briefly rising up to look into the clay-structure and poking into the lower hole. “I also took the liberty of arranging for a garden.” He gestured to the window on his way back to the table.  
Death looked out the window, staring at several of his ghouls and skeletons digging and racking. Perhaps he should not have told them to obey all residents of the fortress... “What...” He sat down in disbelief, wondering if they made a mistake in housing the angel. Unfocused he took off his mask and took a small sip from the cup, not sure what he was supposed to do.  
“I figured I might as well save you all the trouble of having to escort me to a different realm whenever I cook.” Azrael stated to snap the elder Nephilim out of his shock. He smiled gently, probably realizing ex-actly what went through Death's brain at that moment. “When will the others be back by the way? I think the food is nearly done.” He gestured to the clay-structure, from where the smells were originating.  
Death blinked a couple times while still looking from the garden to the kitchen. “Within half an hour, if they encounter no problems.”  
War arrived back home next, tired and hungry: he had encountered some creatures who didn't take kindly to him invading their territory. The moment he stepped into the fortress, he smelled something wonderful. Following the smell he went into the kitchen and much like his elder brother before him, he froze in surprise at seeing the changes in it.  
“Food is nearly done.” Azrael told him, getting another cup and offered it to him after filling it. “Unless you are starving, then I have some other things you can eat in the meantime.”  
“War is always starving. I guess there's a reason why he is now so tall.” Death answered for War, calmly sipping his tea. Seeing his brother shoot him an annoyed look, Death airily told him. “You should try the tea, it's good.”  
War grumbled something under his breath and with a suspicious look at it he sipped on the hot beverage.  
At that moment Azrael heard talking outside the kitchen. “Seems everyone is here.” He procured two more cups, filling them as well before walking over to the structure. “Food’s finished as well.” He stated just as Fury and Strife entered.  
Azrael pulled some truly gigantic plates from one of the cupboard and walked over to the clay-structure. “Strife, help me with this, will you?”  
Rolling his eyes, Strife still joined the angel more or less obediently, looking a bit surprised at getting one of the plates dumped in his hands with what seemed to be a gigantic steaming fish with a weird crust on top.  
War blinked at his food and hesitatingly he took a bite from the angel’s creation. The moment the flavour hit his taste-buds, War stared in shock at the plate: never before he had tasted so much at once. He began to eat with gusto.   
His siblings joined in soon after, much to the angel’s amusement.   
“Heh...” Strife snorted after a good while of only munching sounds filling the room. “I'd say that angels can at least cook.”  
War snorted at Strife's remark. “Nearly every living creature is a better cook than you. Even the Hellhounds won't touch your... creations.” The youngest Rider stared a bit mournful at his empty plate. Turning to the angel he added. “Well, you did prove me wrong in regards to green-food. I'm lucky I didn't bet on it.”  
“I have to agree. Azrael, could you show me the herbs you used?” Death asked when he finished cleaning off his plate. No way he’d ever make just roasted meat after this.  
“They're growing in the garden.” The Archangel informed him, also finished with his food. “Though I hope you are not too full after this, I have some dessert too. Way too much time while waiting for the fish to finish.”  
All of them perked up in interest what, which almost made Azrael giggle at the eager faces of the four most feared creatures in all of Creation. He got up and walked over to a wooden panel on the ground that had not been there before, though Death had not at first noticed it when looking through their kitchen. Opening it, the foggy breath of ice rose up. “Children love this.” The angel grinned, pulling up several bowls with what seemed to be solidified snow in various colours.  
“Then you should give it to War, since he is the child here.” Death stoically stated, earning himself another glare from his younger brother.  
This time Fury did not hesitate as much, immediately trying a spoonful of the stuff. “COLD!” She shuddered.  
“Brain-freeze?” Strife asked his sister sweetly.  
Heeding Fury’s misfortune, War took a careful scoop from the bowl. It was sweet and... delicious! The Red Rider did resist the urge to scarf it all down: he didn't want that painful cold sensation and he most assuredly didn't wanted to give Death any reason to call him a child again. Slowly he continued to empty the bowl.   
“You know, War...” Fury spoke up after finishing her bowl at a more sedate pace. “I think you need to add a new rule for Azrael’s stay here: cook every day.”  
The mystic blinked in surprise at that. Then again, he probably should have seen it coming.  
War thought over his sister’s proposal: Azrael was proving to be a great cook, he was creating a garden specifically for cooking – War saw the garden outside the window and recognized some of the plants the angel had gathered earlier that day. “It would not be a bad idea.”  
Azrael blinked a few times. “Well... I suppose I have nothing better to do anyway...” He muttered lightly.


	5. Chapter 5

War and Azrael headed for the room in which they kept the maps as Fury and Strife were forced to do the dishes under Death's watchful gaze.  
“You don't mind having to cook, right?” War softly enquired as the angel pulled a piece of paper from the mountain on one table. There was a faint hint of a teasing smile around his lips.  
Azrael shook his head, taking a pencil. “It will keep me entertained at least, if today was any indication. What did you find?”  
“It's mostly flat with low hills.” War looked as the angel started drawing. “Around 20 miles North of that one caved mountain Strife found yesterday there starts a zig-zagging ravine, which opens to a lower plain 2 or 3 miles in. A more or less round lake is in there.” He briefly paused, watching with interest as the skilled hands drew a rough sketch of the area he was describing. He almost had to shake himself awake to continue. “In the East of that valley are caves... inhabited ones.”  
“Is that why you were so tired?” Azrael briefly looked up, before keeping on drawing. Was it War's imagination or was the angel smiling lightly at him?  
“It was a whole pack of manticores.” The youngest Rider defended himself. “They surprised me.” He shifted his arm, a frown appearing on his face when he realized he had trouble to move it smoothly. “One bit my arm...” He looked at it more closely and was surprised to see that teeth of the damn thing had actually gotten stuck in the golem-limb. “They only stopped after I and Ruin turned around. Didn't want to kill all of them.”  
Azrael watched as the Red Rider considered his limb, getting up to get a look at it himself. He blinked when seeing the teeth, hesitantly reaching to remove them from in between the plates with his own slender fingers.   
Taken aback at Azrael starting to pry the teeth out, War fell silent. “Ruin was beyond frustrated.” He stated in an attempt to break the silence between them, distracting himself from staring at the intent face of the angel.  
“A steed reflects the rider.” Azrael mused softly, dropping the teeth he had pulled free on the table. “Particularly the steeds of the Horsemen, I daresay.” An amusing thought came to him. “Would he like my cooking as much as you?”  
War had the decency to rub his head a bit awkwardly at the memory of how he had acted when tasting the dish for the first time. “It was the first time I got something like that...”  
“I daresay.” Azrael smiled lightly at him. “I think that was the last of them.”  
War flexed the hand, studying the movements. “Yes, I think so too. Thank you for removing them.”  
“I am yours to command, after all.” The angel bowed lightly and War could not tell if he was mocking the arrangement or something else.  
“It's not like that.” The Nephilim countered. “You are not my servant. And you certainly don't need to do anything you do not want here.”  
“It would keep me busy though.” Azrael pointed out, walking over to the table again to look at the map he had created. “I... I don't do so well with 'idle' anymore.”  
War said nothing, merely tilting his head lightly in question.  
“A hundred years, War.” The Gatekeeper sighed. “For a century I was trapped in that one room in the Black Throne, while the only thing I could do was hate. Myself for allowing Abaddon to involve me in his mad scheme, Abaddon for Falling...” His voice trailed off as he shook his head lightly, turning to hide himself behind his own wings. “Too much time to think and nothing to distract me.”  
Worry briefly flitted through War's gaze. He reached out, turning the angel to look at him. Guilt and pain were clearly visible on the scribe's face.  
“You should have said something.” He whispered, feeling almost guilty for reminding the other of this. Considering how happy the angel had looked when they had enjoyed his food, this expression seemed so... wrong now.  
“You don't need to bother on my accord, War.” Azrael pulled himself free, eyes turning to the map again. “I will find things to do and even if I don't...”  
“Nonsense.” War took his chin, turning the face to look at him again. “You are my ward, Azrael. It would reflect ill on me if I let you slip into depression. I'll see if we can find you some more duties around here.”  
“You don't...” The slender male tried to speak again, only to find a warm and firm finger planted on his lips. The face of the Nephilim opposite him stated that there would be no argument about this.  
“I'll see how far my siblings are with the dishes.” War let go, turning to the door. “I'll send them up when they are done. And afterwards we'll see about something to do for you.”  
Azrael blinked a few times, taking a couple moments to truly register what the other had said. By the time he had regained enough control to whisper a faint 'thank you', the Rider was already gone.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
The next few weeks were certainly interesting. It seemed as if the Riders were trying to see exactly how far Azrael’s culinary skills went, while Azrael himself was more than certain that this was certainly among the last of things he’d have expected.  
It came to a head when Fury returned with... something dragging behind her and her steed. Upon the Archangel’s demand as to what he was supposed to do with a creature the size of a substantial whale Death dryly suggested skinning and gutting.  
In the end the platinum-haired male used the skeleton to make a gazebo in the courtyard, increased the freezer-size to accommodate entirely too much meat and started making lunches for the Horsemen to take out to get through it faster. Their faces upon realizing that last one were so worth it.  
Despite War’s promise to get him more to do, he still found himself occasionally with nothing to do. Until Strife stumbled upon what appeared to be a series of tablets of the former people of the planet they were on, making Death request that the angel translate them.  
It was as he took a break on one of them – it seemed to be a list of former rulers – that he heard commo-tion beneath his window. Curious, he looked outside. Only to promptly flush a surprising shade of scarlet when seeing War and Death wrestling half-naked. He had of course seen them spar before, but that had been with weapons... not like that. He lightly bit his lip, leaning forward a bit to see better in spite of him-self.  
Suddenly feeling eyes on him, he blanched when spotting the third brother leaning idly against the side of the building. Strife’s yellow eyes fastened on Azrael’s ivory ones as the angel hurriedly disappeared into the room again.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Come now...” Strife purred, leaning one arm beside the head of the angel he had pinned to the wall. “How long was it since you last had a lay?” He rested his forehead against Azrael’s, ignoring the hands intend on keeping him back. “A century at least, I daresay.”  
“That is none of your business.” The scholar countered, still trying to push the Horseman away. “Please move aside.”  
“Really?” The Gunner nipped teasingly at the olive jaw-line, adding in a conspiratorially whisper. “I don’t think you are entirely as frigid as they say you are. Considering how you looked at my sibling just a few days ago...”  
The angel’s face flushed, hands briefly stopping with his attempt at getting out of there. “I do not know what you mean.”  
“I think you do.” The taller male used the chance to move forward, pressing his chest against the robed one of the mystic. One of his hands fell to the angel’s hip while he used his other hand to push the head back. “My, don’t you look endearing like that...” His breath trailed over the half-open lips of the angel. For a few moments it seemed the middle brother would actually kiss their ward, only to be nearly catapulted down the hallway.  
“War...” Strife rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “Really? Azrael can damn well take care of himself.”  
“He was certainly not willing to engage with you.” War had thrown his elder brother away from the angel, now standing half in front of their guest.  
“Then he ought to have said so.” The Gunner sneered, turning to walk down the corridor. He had better things to do than get in a fist-fight with his brother. “I thought you were his warden, not his babysitter. Or perhaps you were not willing to see him with someone.” Strife stopped at the corner. “Azrael, you know where to find me.”


	6. Chapter 6

Why he agreed to this, War would never quite get. It was a couple weeks after that incident in the corridor and unlike Fury he had found no excuse to say no to Strife's idea of a drinking-evening. Sighing, he headed towards the living-room. At least Death and Azrael would be there... Mentally bracing himself for Strife's many lewd jokes, he entered the room.  
Death was already comfortably sitting in one of the armchairs, taking a swig from his beer. “This is quite a good quality, brother. Where did you found it?”   
“Vulgrim.” Strife shrugged with one arm around the angel beside him. “Are you sure you do not wish some, Azrael?” He held up his pint of beer.  
“Quite certain.” It was very obvious that the angel was less than comfortable in this situation, almost clinging to his glass of wine. Despite that, he made no move to shake the arm of the Horseman off.  
“As you wish.” Strife turned to his entering brother. “I got you some as well, War!” He pointed at a massive pint, thick foam on top.  
War dropped like a lug on a chair and grabbed the pint. The moment he took a large gulp, he nearly coughed out the drink again. It burned like wildfire down his throat, though he had to admit that the taste was very pleasant after the burn died down. A bit more careful, he took another drink. “It must have cost you a lot of souls.”  
“You'd think that, but no.” Strife grinned, briefly squeezing the angel beside him as he took another chug of his own drink. “He just had me go get him several living demons. He needed them for something.” He shrugged, looking at Azrael. “Are you sure you don't want any?”  
“Just as I said last time, I am sure.” Azrael had barely touched the wine the Horseman had given him. “The wine is quite good...”  
War pointed at Strife. “Brother, you are making him uncomfortable. Maybe if you stop hanging on him...”  
“I agree with War. Stop harassing the poor angel. I'm sure he is not used to a couple rowdy Horsemen surround him.” Death agreed with the youngest Horseman.  
Strife rolled his eyes – not that that was visible or anything – and frowned a bit. “Fine... Azrael, take a nice long chug, and I'll leave you alone.” He held up his own pint of beer to the angel, who blinked in surprise at the move.  
Hesitantly, Azrael took the wooden half-empty container, bringing it to his lips. If it got Strife of his back...  
“Nice and long.” Strife grinned at him, which somehow managed to widen when Azrael did just that. He unwrapped himself from the angel, scooting away obediently.  
War and Death looked somewhat surprised at Strife's obedience, but War was a bit more interested in the drink and Death figured the angel could deal with Strife should the need arise.   
Strife smirked at the angel when he accepted his own drink back. Boy, was Azrael already being affected? He was darn certain that blush had not been there before the chug. Hehe...  
To War’s dismay, his pint was soon empty. He stared at it, debating if he would get another one or better slow down.   
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Want me to get you some more, brother?” Strife asked, getting up to get himself another refill. War had drunk several pints in rapid succession and a smile now graced his face, which was clearly visible to all since he removed his hood a while ago. Death seemed relatively sober, but he too had had several pints so that was probably just skill with the poker-face. Even Azrael was starting to be quite affected by the alcohol in the wine he was drinking.  
Strife soon returned with a refilled pint of beer after an affirmative of the youngest Nephilim, handing it to his brother. He flopped down beside him, leaning against him. If one hadn’t know better, one would have assumed they were the best of friends.  
“Azrael looks stunning, no?” He whispered softly into the other's ear after a look in the angel’s direction. “Perhaps you ought to get him some more wine.”  
The scholar took that moment to indeed drink the last bit of wine from his current glass, brushing some wayward strands of hair out of his blushing face. The outer-robe was hanging over the side of the couch, leaving the angel clad in a thin, half-open under-robe and a set of tight-fitting leggings.  
Had he been less drunk, War would probably have wondered at Strife’s behaviour, but now he just stared in child-like wonder at Azrael; the angel was indeed very stunning. He always thought the angel was quite handsome but now he really looked amazing. War carefully got up from his seat and walked to get more wine for the angel.   
A last remnant of common sense reared its’ head from under Death’s intoxication. “We will be back in a moment.” Dragging the middle brother in the hall, Death hissed something in annoyance at him, but neither the angel nor the youngest Horseman paid any attention to it.  
Thanking War for the drink, Azrael immediately raised it to his lips to take another sip. The Red Rider sat down rather gracelessly beside him, rattling him and in his... inebriation the blood-red liquid in his goblet sloshed over the rim. Now trails of red were running down his chin and neck, fascinating the male beside him.  
“Do you know how beautiful you look?” War whispered, staring at the trail of the wine going Azrael's neck with rapt attention. When the angel blinked with wide eyes at him and a blush formed on the high cheekbones, the Horseman decided that this was the epitome of temptation. Eyes still fixed on the neck of the angel, he wondered how it would taste. Bowing forward, he licked the wine-trail off.  
The other gasped when War licked at his skin, wine-goblet falling onto the stone floor as his hands looked for hold on the couch. Mouth open, he could not stop a moan at the touch of the Horseman's tongue on his flesh. For so long he had wondered...  
At hearing the startled moan, War gazed up at the angel. The blush gracing the cheeks had darkened, the wings were half-folded at his back and the robe bared the whole neck and chest. He reached toward the wings but just before he could touch them, he hesitated. “May I touch them? I always wondered how...”  
Shivering at the look the Horseman was giving him, Azrael found himself unable to answer – or indeed, think clearly – as he moved one of his wings closer to the out-stretched hand.  
War stroked the pearly-white feathers, amazed at how soft they felt. The angelic runes glowed bright and completely mesmerised, he followed them his index finger. He smiled at the angel, making his usually harsh face much softer. “Thank you.”   
Azrael shuddered at the touch. When had it gotten so hot in here? Sweat-drops formed on his skin and almost automatically he reached for his garment to discard it fully. Why was War this close? Did he not feel the warmth?  
When Azrael shrugged his robe of, War brushed the garment onto the ground. He caressed the olive skin newly revealed, leaning forward to start kissing the angel in the neck. The angel gasped, caressing his shoulders with trembling hands. Intoxicated with the taste, the Rider moved his lips up to the elegant face of the angel. Capturing Azrael’s in a kiss, he moaned lightly when the angel returned the gesture.  
The normal hand of the Nephilim felt like fire on Azrael’s body, caressing the silky skin with abandon. The angel shuddered, allowing his head to fall back. Immediately War’s attention turned to the offered neck, sharp teeth teasing the taut skin.  
Neither of them really noticed that Death and Strife still had not returned.


	7. Chapter 7

“I cannot do that.” Strife stated once more. “They will notice, Azrael. You can’t even move…”  
“I know that.” The angel countered, looking up at the Rider. “But War mustn’t know what he did. Please.”  
The Gunner sighed lightly, but nodded in acceptance.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
War woke up with a headache of Hell, as if Straga bashed his head in. Groaning he cursed Strife for the alcohol. He’d never again touch it, that was for certain...  
When someone knocked on his steel door, it sounded like Redemption-cannon-fire to War. “Stop knocking!” He immediately regretted screaming: his head felt even worse now. He buried his head in his pillows when the person knocking instead apparently shot the lock, smashing the door against the wall.  
“Drink.”   
Blinded by pain, he clawed at sound of his most hated brother's voice. Opening his mouth to curse Strife into Oblivion, he nearly choked when the other threw some liquid in his open mouth.  
Coughing violently, he stared murderous at his brother. “What do you want!?” His hangover was fading and he recognized the taste as the standard potion for hangovers Nephilim made.   
“A fucking explanation.” The elder brother snarled, gun still in his hand as he glowered down on War. “What were you thinking!?”  
Eyes twitching, War snarled right back. “What are you talking about?” Quickly replacing his hangover was anger.  
“You tell me.” Strife pulled the blanket of the other. Despite still being furious at his brother, War instinctively looked down. He paled in horror.  
“What did I do?” The Red Rider demanded, blood still visible on his member.  
“Fucked Azreal.” Strife threw the blanket back. “He is badly torn considering someone did not remember lubrication...”   
For the first time in a truly long time, War felt only horror and disgust. He could not have done that... could he? Looking up at his brother, he could see the truth in the other’s eyes: he had. “What have I done?”  
“From what Azrael told me, the both of you got overeager.” The Rider of the White Horse sat down on the bed.   
“It's no excuse for what I have done, Strife. I'm no better than our deceased brethren.” War felt thoroughly disgusted at himself. “How could I do that to him!?”  
The punch hit with surprising force, but War just accepted it. He deserved it, by the Creator he deserved far worse than that measly punch to the face. Strife’s voice was a dangerous growl when he spoke again. “Don't you DARE repeat that sentence again! You are plenty better than our brethren, by far. I have yet to catch you with a little kid in your bed and from what I recall you did not call the rest of us after you were done with Azrael so we could have our turn! So don't you bloody DARE say you are anything like them!”   
The younger Nephilim’s eyes had dimmed, looking dull as he clutched at the sheet covering him. “I forced myself on him...”  
Snarling in frustration, Strife dragged him half-up. “You did not, you fool. Forcing implies him not wanting it and he did! Or do you fucking think he’d not stop you!?”  
War refused to look at him. “How is he?” So much blood...  
“He won’t be walking any time soon.” His brother let go, letting him fall back to the bed. “You ought to go talk to him...” Walking over to the attached bathroom, he half-turned. “You Marked him.”  
A sick feeling rose in War at that. The Mark was a sign of the demon-heritage of the Nephilim: it was a claim on a person, a visible show of possession. He had Marked Azrael, claiming the angel as his... Bile rose in his throat: a Mark was made by biting the neck until blood was drawn. Rushing past Strife into the bathroom, he hung above the toilet and retched.   
“Be at ease, brother.” Holding back the long white hair, Strife patted his back. “It is not nearly as bad as you fear.” Guiding his baby-brother to the bath, he cleaned the younger Nephilim.  
Staring blankly ahead, War said nothing as he was being towelled and dressed. Only as they were walking through the fortress did he speak up. “Strife, can you promise me something?”  
“Depends on what.” The Gunner briefly glanced over his shoulder at the Red Rider behind him.  
“If I do this again, kill me. Don't let Death resurrect me.” War’s eyes narrowed at the snort and non-reaction of the other. Before he could demand an answer, Strife stopped and gestured to a door. It was the door leading into the elder Nephilim’s room.  
Entering the rooms, he remained at the door leading into the bedroom. Azrael was resting in the bed, covered in soft and fluffy blankets. Seeing him, the angel made to rise, but soon had to collapse onto the bed with a hiss of pain. Had he ever even heard such a sound from the mystic?  
“Azrael, I... I am so sorry...” The Rider moved forward, sinking through his knees a short distance from the bed. His eyes trailed over what was visible of the angel’s body: Azrael seemed to wear a tunic of Strife which did not manage to cover the bandages holding a sizeable lump to his throat. The sharp smell of healing-herbs filled the room.  
“There is nothing to be sorry for.” Azrael whispered, reaching for the Nephilim. “You did not force me into anything, War.” His face briefly crunched up in new pain when he had to use the arm of his wounded shoulder to reach out since he was resting on the unwounded one. “We are both equally to blame for this.”  
“But you are the one who was hurt...” Surprisingly gently, War took the reaching hand. It looked so small and frail between his own large original and – even larger – golem hands. “Not to mention I Marked you.”  
“I felt it.” Azrael whispered. “Felt the connection form... But it feels off.”  
Of course he would have realized it. War had been suppressing it the moment Strife had told him. War looked at the angel, before looking at the ground. “It will fade within a month.”  
“War?” Azrael pulled at the hands holding his. “I wanted this.” He couldn’t help but smile a bit at the surprised look the Nephilim threw at him. “I don’t know if you remember, but I am one of Heaven’s finest mystics. I can teleport large numbers, hide entire realms... Do you truly think I would have been unable to stop you?”  
“Azrael, a bond with a Nephilim is... very violent.” Despite the strange emotion flitting through his body, War would not just accept it so quickly. “It is very different from an angelic bond... If they can be compared at all.”  
“You think I do not know that?” Azrael's face darkened a bit. “I am the first Scholar of the White City, War. I know very well what a Nephilim-bond is and does.”  
“But why, why would you want to be bound to a Nephilim, to me? There is too much of a chance I will hurt you this bad again or even worse.” Last night events clearly showed that.  
“No, you won't.” Azrael dragged himself closer to the bed's edge, ignoring the pain, managing to free his hand from War’s to rest it against War's cheek. “It’s not like we’d immediately marry.” He chuckled lightly, a small smile once again gracing his features. “But perhaps... we can become more than friends?”  
War gazed at the smiling angel, finding it hard to believe that Azrael was so willing to forgive him and also to be more to him. Azrael let go, returning to a more comfortable position on the bed.   
“I believe you're far too quick to forgive.” The Nephilim whispered, hesitantly moving a hand to the one that had been at his face not a few moments ago.  
“Let that be my decision, War.” The Archangel’s smile did not diminish. “What do you say?”  
A silence stretched between them, even as War nodded his assent.


	8. Chapter 8

With a soft knock on the door, War went inside to check upon his ward. "How are you feeling?" The rider asked while walking to angel.  
"Somewhat better." Azrael assured him. He was still confined to lying on his side, but at least he could move somewhat pain-free again. "How did the others react to... this?"  
"Death gave me... quite of a tear-down." War admitted, suppressing a shiver at the memory. "Fury just pointed at Death and nodded with this really disapproving look on her face... And Strife sat there stone-faced. I was forced to make breakfast."  
Azrael chuckled lightly. "I think I heard the lecture." He reached for War, gently adding. "So how are your cooking-skills?"  
"It was alright, though leagues behind your skills." The Rider took Azrael's hand, "What do you want for breakfast?"  
"Anything left of what you made?" The angel carefully hoisted himself a bit more upright. "I'd like to try that."  
"Well, that would be bacon and eggs then. I'll go get you some." War carefully let go of Azrael's hand so he could head out to the kitchen.  
After the Rider returned with the food, there was some silence between them as Azrael ate. "This is surprisingly good." The angel stated after he had finished. "Are you sure Death was the cook before I came along?"  
War chuckled at that, "Death is the one with the most patience for it. I tend to do rush-jobs. This time however I took my time." Collecting the plate and setting it aside on Strife’s dresser, War asked. "Anything else you need?"  
"Not really at the moment." The angel reclined on his pillows again. "Do you think we can spend some time together?"  
Sitting down on a chair near the bed, War nodded. "I am officially your nurse until you are better. My siblings went out to explore more."  
Azrael chuckled again, hiding his smile behind a hand. The Horseman War... relegated to 'nurse'. "You don't mind, I hope?" He asked, looking up at the Red Rider.  
War shook his head. "I don't mind: it's the least I could do. Especially after..." He made a gesture with his hand towards Azrael’s middle, his face becoming serious again.  
"It was not your fault, War." Azrael countered, face also growing more serious. "It was an accident..." He managed to take the hand, holding it firmly with his own.  
With a sigh War held onto the Gatekeeper’s hand gently. "Still, it shouldn't have happened. But let us let it rest for now."  
Azrael smiled again, weakly this time. "So... when did you begin to feel attracted to me? I must admit I never noticed anything..." I might have acted on it, he considered adding, but in the end decided against it.  
"The moment I saw you could stand your ground against Death." War admitted, chuckling at his admission. "It was proof that you were both steadfast and smart. So actually quite a while..."  
Azrael laughed - actually laughed - at that. "Two characteristics I need in this family, I daresay." He hiccupped lightly. "So to get you to admit it, I should have beaten Death up?" He joked, still trembling in the aftermath of his laughter.  
Laughing at the mental image and immensely enjoying the sight of the Archangel laughing, War answered. "Well, no need to go that far. And while we are on the subject: when did you feel attracted to me?"  
A small blush appeared on Azrael's face at that. "Since the Battle of Eden..." He admitted, more than flustered at having carried the Horseman's torch for longer than Humanity had existed.  
Blinking, War began to wonder how he had never noticed that. "Since that battle?" War had not even talked to Azrael then... Especially when he noticed the angel barely looking at him. He had always assumed the scholar was not comfortable being around the Nephilim then.  
Azrael nodded weakly, looking away. He seemed to study the fabric of the pillow with great interest, unable to look War in the eye. He swallowed lightly, his throat feeling beyond dry at the moment.  
"So how did I catch your eye?" War had never seen the scholar this flustered... and embarrassed. Aside from the last few months, he had only ever seen him proud and steadfast.  
"How you acted with your siblings afterwards." Azrael whispered. Unlike War, he had never really gotten opportunities to show his private side to anyone and he was therefore not exactly used to it.  
"You mean when I comforted Death?" War enquired. He gave a light squeeze in Azrael's hand when he noticed that the angel had not looked up yet. Looking up, the angel seemed almost vulnerable when he shyly met War's enquiring eyes. He nodded oncebefore hiding his face behind a curtain of platinum hair again.  
Tilting his head in thought, War used his other hand to lift up the scholar's chin. Once he could see Azrael's eyes, he wondered out loud. "Why are you so embarrassed by this?"  
"I... I don't quite know..." Azrael admitted lightly. "Emotions don't always make sense, do they?" He wanted to reach up and touch the cool steel-hand holding his face, but thought better of it in the end.  
"They don't." War admitted, deciding not to question Azrael any more about this. He could clearly see it made the Archangel very uncomfortable. He removed his hand from the chin, though he did not let go from the hand cradled in his own.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Two weeks later, when he had long regained the ability to move about, Azrael was working in the garden, coaxing a couple of fragile herbs to grow. From scholar and mystic to gardener and cook... The White City would have a heart-attack about this. He chuckled lightly, energies flowing outward to a little plant under his fingertips.  
Finally getting the plant to do what he wanted it to do, Azrael rose to his feet while dusting himself off. Looking over the plants, he nodded to himself before heading into the kitchen again.   
Azrael rolled his eyes lightly when realizing that he spend almost his entire time in a kitchen now. Peeking into the oven, he found that he did not mind nearly as much as one could expect. At least he was cooking for people that appreciated it. "Nearly done..."  
Outside the fortress, War dismounting from his steed and unsummoned Ruin. Holding a package carefully, he headed inside to find Azrael. Hearing the angel mutter in the kitchen, War then decided to just give him the gift the Rider had bought earlier. He strode inside, smelling the delicious aromas coming from the oven. "Still trying to enslave us with your cooking?"  
Azrael looked up in surprise, smiling warmly at War. "Have I not succeeded yet?" He joked, walking over to greet the Rider with a chaste peck on the cheek. "How was your exploration?"  
Suppressing a blush at the touch of the Archangel’s silky lips on his cheek, War cleared his throat. "Eventful. Found a new valley with more 'plantlife'. Downside, they're meat-eating... again." Fiddling with the package, War began to wonder if he should give it to Azrael later on.  
Azrael chuckled lightly, resting his hand on War's golem arm. "Poor dear... I have some food if you like?" He gestured to the table. "And what is that?" He noticed the package in the Rider's hand.  
Taking a deep breath, War semi-thrust it at the angel. "A gift. For you." Using his hood to hide his face, he turned away lightly.  
Azrael blinked in surprise, accepting the package slowly. Carefully pulling away the cloth protecting it from harm, he gasped lightly at seeing a book. The leather-binding was old, brittle. His eyes widened when seeing the title. It was ancient lore and by the looks of it, an original volume. "Thank you." He smiled at War, pressing another kiss - longer this time - to the Nephilim's cheek.  
Feeling impossibly hot now, War muttered a 'no problem' and quickly headed back outside.   
Azrael chuckled lightly again at the sight of the flustered Nephilim all but fleeing his presence. Deciding to give the Rider a bit of time, he followed about half an hour later with a plate of food.


	9. Chapter 9

A week ago, the angel had decided they might as well move together, since even Strife was by now seeing them as a couple. Plus, his bedroom at the top of the tower afforded them far more privacy than War’s among those of his siblings.  
He thought back somewhat fondly to the reaction the Horseman had had upon that suggestion. For roughly two months they had been courting now and he had found that there were two sides to private War: one that was confident and proud – not unlike him on the battlefield – which was the most visible one, be they with his siblings or engaging in pleasure and then there was another, smaller part of the youngest Nephilim... Shy and vulnerable, it seemed that for plenty of experience in bed, War had never been in a proper relationship that did not boil down to ‘friends with benefits’ and just had no real clue as how to go about it. Though he had never reacted so strongly again as when he had giving Azrael the ancient tome, he always became plenty flustered every time he made the angel smile. And said angel might enjoy making the Horseman flustered just a bit too much sometimes, which always made it a treat when War was the one to make the Gatekeeper lose his composure.  
“War...” Azrael trembled, mouth half-open with laboured breaths. Looming over him, trapping the angel beneath his bulk, was War, grinning cheekily. Holding the angel’s slender wrists with his golem-hand, the other was massaging the scholar’s crotch, teasing the hard erection straining against the tight leggings.  
“What did you expect wearing this?” The Rider chuckled, kissing the angel’s cheek. Outside it was dark already and the room was only illuminated by several candles well out of reach.  
“It’s... Oh, Creator... It’s what I always wear to bed...” The angel moaned, gasping when fingers started tugging at the dark-grey fabric.  
“I am pretty certain they don’t need to be that tight.” Slipping his hand inside, War himself nearly moaned at the smooth skin he encountered. They had touched one another several times already – though they had yet to sleep together after that disastrous first night – but he was still amazed at how soft and silky the other was. No wonder he had not taken his time to consider lubrication back then.  
Feeling his lover pump his erection, Azrael threw his head back, moaning unashamedly at the pleasure coursing through him.  
Only to whimper when War stopped, removing his hand. He had to look like a poor and lost puppy, by the way the Nephilim chuckled again at the expression on his face. Looking down, the ivory eyes widened as War freed his own throbbing desire.  
For a moment, fear flitted through Azrael’s mind at the memory of the pain of their first night together. It was replaced with even greater pleasure when he realized what War intended. Taking both their cocks, the Rider pumped them together.  
Their moans filled the room, whispers of each other’s names rising in frequency the closer they came. Azrael reached his peek first, arching against the Horseman above him as his hands clawed at empty air. War came soon after, the sight and sound of his beloved’s orgasm more than he could take.  
Panting as he came down from his high, Azrael barely found the strength and concentration to whisper a short spell to clean them up before slipping into sleep. The last thing he felt was War lifting him, shifting the long wings to one side of the bed to prevent injury.   
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Standing in the courtyard, War petted Ruin on his broad dark grey snout. Ruin looked up and snorted vi-ciously when he spotted a newcomer approaching. Turning his head to follow Ruin's gaze, he smiled at the arrival. “Azrael.”  
“Hello.” Azrael again had forsaken his robes for a set of tight-fitted pants and a tunic. Floating over to the two, he set down beside War. “I take it Death is giving you a day off?”  
War snorted at the very idea. “Hardly, he wants to spar with all of us. Near the fort is a terrain which he deemed a good sparring-ground.” War turned his gaze back to Ruin, so he wouldn’t stare at the angel's tight-clad legs. “He wants us travel by foot. He believes we are becoming... soft, living together like this. ”  
“Oh dear.” Azrael flew up a bit to be able to pat War on the shoulder. “I take it you would love some nice food afterwards?” He hesitantly reached for Ruin as he touched down again.  
Ruin gave a loud snort, rearing his head up and away from the angel's hand. With comforting words, War succeeded in calming the fiery steed down. “Ruin doesn’t like people touching him.” Grinning lightly, the Rider added. “Seems he doesn't mind you too much though, since he didn't try to bite your hand off.”  
“Seems we’ll get there at one point.” Azrael dropped his hand. “Now what did you say about bribing him?” He jokingly asked, tilting his head to look from the horse to the Rider.   
“You might with apples.” War said in amusement, which caused the horse to trot a few metres away from the duo with a haughty snort and an angry whisk with his tail. “And now he is cross with me for spilling out his weakness.” Wanting to say more War was interrupted by Death calling for him. With a huge sigh, War headed to the entrance. He called back at Azrael, “The food sounds like a great idea. Ruin, be nice!” A loud and moody whinny could be heard in answer.   
Azrael chuckled as he watched the Horseman leave. Looking at the horse, he headed for the kitchen. “Feel free to let me know if you want apples.” He told the flaming horse. He knew a nice recipe with those... and probably had everything he needed? “Keeping track of the food-reserves with those four is harder than the cataloguing system of the Argent Spire...” He shook his head in exasperation at the sheer amount the Four ate on a daily basis.  
Still moody, Ruin walked around the area for a time, having been summoned in the courtyard meant he could not even go outside and run a bit. Suddenly, he raised his head sharply: he smelled something deli-cious, like apples. Remembering what the feathered male told him, the red horse trotted over to the kitchen window. He couldn't be too bad, right? Master liked him and he smelled decent. Curious, Ruin poked his head inside.   
“Well, hello.” Azrael chuckled at the flaming horse-head now in the window. “You are just on time.” He took something from a plate on the table, walking over to the window to offer it to the horse. “Apples, and some extras.”  
First staring at the item on the man with suspicion, Ruin sniffed at it. Smelled... really good. Deciding to risk it, the red horse carefully removed the offering from the hand and then trotted a few paces away to eat it in peace.   
Azrael leaned on the windowsill to watch how the Horseman’s steed would react to it. Levitating the plate closer, he took a slice of baked apple for himself, chewing on it idly.  
It was the best thing Ruin ever ate. Nearly swallowing the treat whole, the horse licked off his snout to catch every last bit. Turning back to the window, Ruin rushed towards the male and sniffed around for more treats. Nickering softly, as if he was asking for more of the tasty baked goods.   
Azrael chuckled lightly, holding out the plate. “These are all I made for now, so pace yourself a bit.” He gently patted the steed’s nose. Like Rider, like horse, apparently. At this rate, he could well bend them all to his will just by cooking for them.  
With a happy snort, Ruin began to devour the offered treats. Soon – too soon for Ruin – all the baked apples were gone. Saddened, the red horse licked the plate and when was he was sure that there was nothing else, he sniffed at the male to check if he maybe stashed more treats on himself.  
“I am sorry, but that is all for now.” Azrael chuckled again, patting the horse’s neck carefully. “I ran out of apples, I am afraid.” He almost giggled when feeling the hot breath against his chest when the massive steed of War searched for more treats on his person.  
Disappointed that there were no more, Ruin let the male pat him on the neck. He gave nice pats. Maybe he would become Master's mate? Master liked him and he made tasty treats. Ruin then wondered if the feathered male was actually interested in his Master.   
“So much for not wanting me to touch you...” Azrael mused lightly, carefully trailing his fingers through the shadowy mane of the horse. Ruin was surprisingly cool, considering all the fire he had. “Just like War, am I right? All tough and strong, but once in a while you just want to be pampered...”   
His ears perked up when the angel mentioned his Master's name. With a soft neigh Ruin notched his nose against the male and afterwards looked at him intently.   
“What?” Azrael was nearly bowled over at the force behind the horse’s move. Truly like steed, like rider. “Do I want to know why you are looking at me like that?” He tilted his head questioningly, wondering at the intent stare in those glowing eyes. “How much did War tell you, I wonder...”  
Deciding to get know more about the treat-giver, he began to sniff him. He smelled not decent, but good. His scent was fresh, like a clear sky after a rainy day yet some manly musk and a hint of apples.   
Azrael chuckled, patting the horse again. “Still looking for apples?”  
Raising his head, Ruin stared at the entrance. With a loud whiney, the horse dashed away. Master had returned. War returned from the sparring with his other siblings. He was bone-tired, moody and hungry.   
“Oh dear...” Azrael chuckled upon seeing the Horsemen, gesturing towards the kitchen. “I have food waiting for you.”  
Strife, Death and Fury passed him by without a word, more or less collapsing on the chairs. War however, lingered behind wanting to greet his horse. Ruin sniffed at him, making soft nickering sounds. The Red Rider patted him. “Did you behave?” The red horse notched against his rider. “I see.”   
“He ran out of apples though.” Azrael patted the horse on his neck. “He was heart-broken.”  
“I'm not surprised, ” War chuckled, watching how the Archangel patted Ruin. “Seems you succeeded in bribing him through his stomach.” Ruin snorted hard.   
“It seems I did.” Azreal smiled at the horse. “Now, I daresay you better hurry before there is nothing left for me to bribe you through your stomach with.” He gestured to the kitchen with his head.  
Realising that Azrael was right, War temporally forgot his weariness and hurried inside, knowing that his siblings were capable of eating everything... Without leaving him anything.  
Ruin huffed out and pressed his nose against the angel. His Master could be so single minded.   
Azrael snorted lightly. “I do remember you being very focused on your apples.” He reminded the horse, patting the stallion once more as the sound of War’s indignation could be heard. There was some arguing, but after a short while the sound of eating filled the house again. “Nephilim...”


	10. Chapter 10

It reminded him of the furs angels used to dress their children in... “It’s so soft.” Caressing it gently, he had to fight the urge to wrap himself in it. “Where did you find this?”  
“It’s from one of the creatures here.” War shyly stated, sitting down beside the angel. “I thought you might like it... So I skinned and cleaned it.”  
“That does explain the hole here.” Azrael chuckled lightly, reaching over to press a kiss on War’s cheek. “Thank you.” A small grin formed around his lips at the light blush on the Horseman’s cheeks.   
Considering the skin for a few moments, the mystic lifted his voice, weaving his magics around the soft fur.  
After a bare minute, he held a rich cloak draped over his arm.  
“Well?” Slipping it on, he looked at War, only to stop in his tracks at the look in the other’s eyes. The Nephilim looked like he could not believe his eyes. “War?”  
In answer, War’s hand settled against his cheek, caressing the platinum strands of hair. “You are a treasure of Heaven, Azrael...” Closing the distance between them, he carefully caressed the soft fur covering the angel’s body. “So beautiful...”  
“I doubt it.” The mystic countered a bit forlornly. “I’m no warrior. And surely those are as preferable for Nephilim as they are for angels.”  
“But it’s because you are no warrior that you are so beautiful.” The bulkier male whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to those silky lips. “Your body is flawless.”  
Azrael would probably have objected to that, but the Horseman’s lips did not give him any chance to do so.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“I am just surprised that I am his first relationship…” Azrael muttered, briefly looking at Fury as he looked into the oven again. “I mean, he is millennia old!”  
“He had relationships.” She countered, sipping on the tea he had made her.  
“No, he had… friends with benefits.” The angel pointed at her with the metal poker he had used on the fire just a moment ago. “I am his first romantic-relationship. Why? I could understand him being unattached after becoming a Horseman, but what about before? Surely his angelic looks are not that bad by Nephilim-standards?”  
“Because you are the first that got close enough to him.” The female sighed lightly, getting up to walk over to the angel. “All others that expressed interest in him… well, they never made it.”  
“What…?” Tilting his head, he tried to read anything in her expression. “How do you mean that?”  
“Let’s say…” Did the Nephilim actually look awkward at that? “They might have been thinking about the wrong things and got some elder siblings on their roofs. Suddenly they were uninterested.”  
Blinking, he wondered if she was joking around. She seemed serious. “So… should I be worried?” He was very certain that they had not yet done that with him. And equally certain he’d prefer if they never did.  
“Nah, you are okay.” Fury grinned, wrapping her arm around him. “Plus, we’d be too late now, wouldn’t we?”  
A slight blush colored the angel’s cheeks. “I… suppose so.” He smiled weakly. “So I do not need to fear Death’s scythes suddenly lodged in my back?”  
“Only if you hurt War.” His ‘sister-in-law’ grew serious. “But then he’d need to get to you first.”  
“Duly noted.” Azrael nodded lightly. “I certainly have no intention of hurting him though.”  
“Just warning you.” She let go, returning to take another sip of her tea.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Caressing the coal-black skin, Azrael sat in the pavilion he had made. Flowers were winding their way up the ribs, forming a leafy canopy above his head. Resting in front of him was Ruin, resting his head in the angel’s lap. His fires had died to the bare minimum, the fiery horse half-asleep under the mystic’s ministrations.  
“You seem to be able to enchant everyone without even trying.” A dry voice came from the entrance. Death seemed to hesitate briefly before joining the angel on the assortment of pillows littering the ground.  
“I can assure you that anyone who could cook would have.” The angel countered with a light tone, trailing his fingers through the shadowy mane.  
“I doubt they’d have cooked their way into War’s bed.” The Firstborn pointed out, face stoic as he regarded the proud steed of his fellow Horseman.  
“It’s my bed.” Azrael corrected him, watching as Dust flew in and settled on the Nephilim’s shoulder. “Please tell me you did not come looking for me to give me your big-brother-threats.”  
“Do you expect me to?” The Pale Rider looked in annoyance at the bird on his shoulder when the crow nudged his face.  
“Well, you did destroy the Nephilim for his sake.” Azrael briefly rested his hand on the scar on Death’s chest. “Then again, according to Fury it is a miracle I got this far anyway.”  
An eyebrow rose behind the bone mask at that, looking with something akin to disbelief at the hand on his chest. Most people shied away from touching the eldest Horseman, but Azrael had always been different. Which was probably why he was in a relationship with War now…  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
The first of the Horsemen he had joined, the second had somehow come to this point, the third had come for him… and the fourth he was currently searching for.  
“Strife.” Azrael finally found the one he was searching for. The other three Horsemen had ridden out, while the Gunner could afford to stay a while yet.  
Looking up, the Nephilim briefly regarded the approaching angel before snorting lightly. “What?”  
“Can we talk?” Floating closer, he seemed like a cloud: wearing the white fur-cloak only his face and the runes on his wings gave any color to his form.  
“Just don’t expect me to actually answer.” War’s elder brother turned to the Archangel, not even bothering to take of his mask.  
Briefly, ever so briefly the mystic’s jaw tightened. “Can we not act like civilized people?”  
“I am a Nephilim, Azrael. We don’t do ‘civilized’ if you remember. What do you want?” Strife sneered, crossing his arms when the other touched down on solid ground.


	11. Chapter 11

Taking a deep breath, Azrael moved closer. “You don’t make any sense to me, Strife.”  
“Should I?” The Nephilim countered, turning away to look at Regret a short distance from the two.   
“You are War’s brother and yet…” The angel also looked at the Rider’s horse. Ironically, he was the only one who had a mare. “It seems to me we got along better when I was not being courted by him.”  
“Or I just don’t like you.” The other male suggested.  
“That does not compute with how you acted.” Taking the steel-clad shoulder, Azrael turned him around. “You set me up with him, after all. Why do that when you do not care?” Getting no answer, he continued. “Or are you telling me that it was chance that you came into the room when he… started?”  
“You were not exactly silent, Azrael.” The White Rider shook the hand of his shoulder, shrugging lightly. “I just happened to hear.”  
“And what about the fact that you planned that entire ‘drinking-evening’ for me and War to start acting on our desires?” The scholar’s voice slowly dissolved into a snarl. “You had all the time in the world to do it, but just so happened to ‘get the idea’ after figuring out I and War are interested in one another? I am the wisest angel in Heaven, Strife, try to sell that ‘do not care’-nonsense to someone else.”  
Neither spoke for a while, clouds passing overhead.  
“Why?” Azrael demanded.  
“Why what?” Strife’s voice sounded tired.  
“Don’t start this.” The Archangel muttered. “Why would you act like this if you care enough to set up War with me? From what I gathered, Death and Fury would have killed me for showing interest in him.”  
The Nephilim sighed, reaching up for his helmet. “Not all of these are worn on the outside.” He lifted the steel helmet, gesturing to the mask-part of it. “But why do you care?”  
“You are - sort of - my brother-in-law.” The angel reached for the mask. “Why do you wear it then? Would it not be better if you were honest with them?”  
“I have been wearing it for millennia… no, eons.” The taller made put the helmet on again as he whistled for his steed. “What makes you think they’d recognize me if I stopped wearing it?” Mounting the ethereal horse, he tapped the steel on his head a few times. “What makes you think I took it willingly?”  
Before Azrael could answer, the Nephilim rode off.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
For the next week, Azrael pondered over the words of Strife. Once upon a time, he would have deemed the middle brother as fittingly named as the other two, but now he was not so certain anymore.  
Subtle questioning seemed to confirm his first suspicion that the White Rider cared far more for his siblings than he let on. Which of course raised the question as to why he hid that.  
“Let it rest, Azrael.” Strife had failed to evade Azrael that day, having been proverbially cornered in the small library of the building. “Why do you care how I act?”  
“Aside from the fact that I will spend three centuries around you and am being courted by your brother?” Azrael countered dryly. “Curiosity.”  
The Nephilim sighed in defeat, getting up from where he had been sitting at a low table. “Fine… I’ll tell you, but not here. I do not want them to overhear.”  
“Why are you so adamant about them not knowing?” Watching the Horseman walk to the door leading into the garden, Azrael followed him.  
“You’ll see.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Really War, it is fine.” The argument had been going strong for nearly an hour now. Strife wanted – or needed, as he claimed – the mystic to come along with him that day on account of needed to chart an island and not wanting to swim there. War on the other hand, was more than opposed to entrusting his lover to his hated brother. Azrael did not mind coming along, but was having a hell of time convincing War of that. “Even if he suddenly decided to risk your ire by abandoning me or something like that, I am more than capable of getting myself out of trouble.”  
Considering the angel could bet his wings that this was mostly a ploy to get away from the other Horsemen so they could talk, he was not going to let War’s protectiveness stop him.  
“War.” Death finally spoke up. “We are wasting time arguing. Azrael will go with Strife.”  
Throwing one last, murderous look at his brother War turned around and stomped off to Ruin. Strife merely rolled his eyes in answer, mounting Regret.  
“You want to sit behind me or fly?” He asked the angel as the Red Rider disappeared in the distance.  
“I’ll fly.” Azrael assured him, taking to the air as the steel-clad Rider also moved out. The two white forms passed through the lands quickly, reaching the golden beach shortly after noon. Neither had made the move to talk during that and even as the Archangel formed a bridge of un-melting ice for the Rider to cross they did not speak.  
“Well?” Watching his bridge being demolished by the waves, Azrael finally broke the silence. “Why do you act as you do?”  
“Why did the Horsemen do anything?” Strife countered, adjusting his helmet as he walked into the interior of the island. “The Charred Council…”  
Following him, the scholar said nothing, waiting for him to continue.  
“You play chess?” The Gunner mused. “Sometimes one must sacrifice a piece to win, yes?”  
“Are you implying you are that piece?” Azrael demanded, looking in disbelief at the Nephilim a short distance ahead of him.  
“Yes.” Without nodding or even looking back the other moved on. “I was never the… nicest to be around. I liked irritating people. When we… when we bound ourselves to the Council...” He sighed, stopping to finally turn around. “They knew that at some point there might be a time where they would have to send one of us on a suicide-mission. But they did not want the other three to be compromised should that day come.” He took his helmet off, leaning against one of the trees rising into the sky. “Since I was already needling everyone, they told me to up the ante… That I would be that suicide-sender… I agreed.”  
“You… agreed.” The angel echoed, touching down upon the moss-covered forest-floor. “Just like that?”  
“It would keep my siblings secure.” Strife looked up. “That was eons ago, Azrael. How can I expect them to believe me if I were to act as I want? I have become the mask I choose to wear.”  
“Not fully.” The white-haired male offered hesitantly. “You are still you underneath.”  
“And what use is that when I cannot take off the mask?” His voice returned to his customary sneer, sharp teeth bare to the angel.  
“You can…” Azrael offered his hand. “I’d be honored if you did with me.”


	12. Chapter 12

It was one of those days were neither of them had much to do. “Anything you want to do?” War asked Azrael as both of them lounged on bed.  
“I don’t quite know.” Azrael leaned a bit closer to War, looking up from the book he had been browsing in. “Perhaps a ride on Ruin to somewhere?”   
“I think I know a place,” whispered War, getting up to dress.   
An hour later saw them outside, War having just summoned Ruin and Azrael holding a basket with some picnic-utensils. War climbed onto Ruin’s back, offering the angel his hand.  
“Archangels and riding a horse are not that good of a combo.” Azrael snorted lightly. “At least, not when being the extra.” He added, gently patting Ruin beneath him. “Where are we going?”  
“You will see” The Rider answered simply. The moment he was sure the angel was seated securely behind him, he mentally gave Ruin the destination. The steed easily rode through the veils between realms.   
“We are here.” He stated matter-of-factly when they arrived in a small glade, with a sizeable pond and waterfall.  
“That was quick.” Azrael looked around. “My... this is a beautiful place... Are we in the Maker's realm?” He carefully got off Ruin, touching down onto the soft grass.  
“We are on Earth.” His lover explained, dismounting Ruin as well. “I found this during my... rampage for the Former Council.”  
The reminder of what War had gone through made the Archangel flinch. It had been his fault... He bit on his lip, moving away a bit again. “I'm sorry...” He whispered, looking out over the waters below them, clutching the handle of the basket.  
Sighing, War neared his saddened lover. “Azrael, there is no need to... oomph!” With a giant splash, the Red Rider was catapulted in the water. Resurfacing, War spat out water. “RUIN!” The horse looked somewhat triumphant at his rider. Beside him, Azrael was trying to hide his laughter behind his hand, basket dropped on the sand. Seeing that the angel’s eyes were closed, War’s face broke into a sly grin as he gave Ruin a signal.  
Just as he calmed down, Azrael yelped in surprise when something hit his back hard. Falling face-first into the water, he struggled to get back to his feet before his wings dragged him down. Standing somewhat shakily, he tried to lift them out of the water, but they were too heavy now. “Really?” He demanded of the horse, finally managing to at least get one in the air.  
Grinning, War hoisted Azrael with wet wings and all out of the pond and climbed back onto the bank. Muttering, he began to remove his wet clothing and armour as Ruin was a perfect picture of innocence.  
A short distance away the angel was doing likewise, struggling with his drenched wings. Grumbling a bit, the mystic used his magics to dry them off, dropping the formed water-ball on the horse. “Payback.”  
Now War had to chuckle at the flaming steed’s perturbed expression. “You had that coming, Ruin.”  
The horse snorted and marched away with an irritated flick of his tail.  
“As if you are so innocent in this.” Azrael pointed out when he managed to get his drenched pants off. “Ruin likes me far too much to do something like this to me of his own accord.”  
The bulkier male grinned a bit while spreading out his clothes. “And what will you do about it?”   
Closing the distance between them, the mystic snuggled against the Rider, smiling lightly at the warmth of the other’s body. “Steal your warmth.” He whispered, shivering lightly at the cold air surrounding them. It seemed summer was dying down on this part of Earth.  
War stared at Azrael when he heard what the angel was whispering. Wrapping his normal arm around him, War tilted Azrael's face so he could look in his eyes. From that moment the Rider was mesmerised: the pearly-white eyes were shining with the angel’s emotions, the red blush on his cheeks made him look amazing and his lips were just so inviting.  
Azrael trembled when he saw the look in the Rider's eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a shuddering breath came out. Almost automatically his hands went up, settling at War's shoulders, caressing the steely muscles he encountered there.  
War slowly leaned forward, nearing to those enchanting lips. He desperately wanted to taste them, but kept his pace slow so Azrael could refuse him.   
His legs nearly gave way at feeling War's hot breath on his lips. Moving his hands from the shoulders to the head Azrael pulled it down, bringing their lips together.  
War's held the trembling angel tightly, lifting him up so he could kiss him more deeply. Feeling the angel flush against his skin, War felt he was on fire. A feeling that only increased when the other wrapped his legs around his waist, arms wrapping around his neck.  
“Can we... get under some cover?” The still trembling angel whispered as he pulled back, eyes lidded as he regarded the bulky male holding him and blush still vibrant on his cheeks. It deepened when the Rider’s flesh hand slid down his body, cupping his backside.  
In answer, War moved to a copse of trees a short distance away. He remembered that there was a rocky spot in the middle. Easily moving between them despite feverishly kissing the angel again, he trailed his lips down to Azrael’s neck.  
The angel panted, nose filling with the Horseman's scent when the other started kissing his neck. He tensed when hearing what his lover hoarsely whispered in his neck. “I want to Mark you...” He remembered last time: the pain, the fear... His heart began to race, not from arousal but in terror. “Will... will it hurt...?” He whispered.  
Looking at the angel, guilt filled War when seeing the fear in the angel's eyes. Kissing the angel on his forehead, he hugged him gently. “I'm sorry for what I had done to you the last time, but now I would be more in control, so the pain should be far less. But if you rather not be Marked, I will accept it.”  
“I...” Azrael bit his lip, looking away from the guilt-ridden Rider. “I did not mind what you did... Just... just how you did it...” He briefly glanced back at the male holding him. “Be... be more gentle?” He requested, returning the hug by wrapping his wings around them. “I felt... I felt like you intended to tear my throat open...” He weakly admitted.  
“I tend to forget that our customs are alien to you.” Despite the angel clutching him tightly, War managed to sit on ground without jostling him. When both of them were sitting on the moss-covered floor, War caressed his beloved over the side of his face. “I never meant to give you the impression that your life was in danger. I swear upon my soul and word as one of the Horsemen, I'll be gentler this time.”  
“No need to go that far.” Azrael leaned into the touch. “I do trust you, War.” He smiled, weakly but determined. “I want this.” He leaned forward, kissing the rider again.  
Answering the kiss, War poured all his love into it. After awhile, he slowly kissed back down to side of the neck. When he reached the nape of the scholar's neck, he kissed it one more time before his canines pierced the flesh. Removing his teeth, he began to lick and kiss the spot in an attempt at easing the pain away. All the while doing this, he still cradled the face with his original hand, rubbing the high cheek-bone with his thump.  
Azrael gasped upon feeling the teeth, tears forming in his eye-corners at the pain. He froze in the Horseman's arms when the smell of fresh blood hit him. In his mind, faintly like a memory scratching to be remembered, the mystic could feel the connection between him and the other being formed and he moaned in pleasure at sensing War like this.  
Feeling the connection forming between them once more, War kept kissing and licking until the Mark stopped bleeding and no more pain passed through the formed bond. Lips migrated back to the Archangel's, he claimed them deeply. His arm around the waist shifted, trailing feather-light touches on the soft and unblemished skin.


	13. Chapter 13 NSFW

His fear and trepidation fading, Azrael shuddered at the touches upon his skin, trailing his own lips over War's neck and shoulder for as far as he could reach.  
Growling lowly, so that the rumbling could be felt through War's chest he swiftly pulled the angel off him and laid him on the dark moss covering the ground beneath them. Hovering over him, the Rider admired the picture the scholar painted. The dark green floor contrasted nicely the wings and body: Azrael nearly looked as if he was glowing, his hair spread out like a platinum halo around his head and eyes looking up half-lidded. “Beautiful. It seems I have been blessed by the Heavens.” He leaned forward and kissed down the body.  
“I am very certain Heaven and Hell would lose their minds over this.” Azrael breathed in answer, chest quivering as War kissed it. He reached out shakily, twining some of the snow-white strands of the other’s hair in his hand. They were surprisingly soft, like silk.  
Licking and kissing the trembling chest the Horseman moved his lips to one of his lover's nipples, toying with them until they grew hard. His normal hand slid down towards the angel’s penis, massaging the hardening flesh.  
Azrael arched his back at the pleasure, moaning War's name. His fingers moved to clutch the moss, wings trembling on the green expanse. Taking a deep breath, he managed to gather his concentration and started chanting a spell designed to specifically help with spontaneous... lovemaking.  
Smiling against the Archangel's chest at hearing the chant, the bulkier male wrapped his hand around the angel's member, pumping it slowly. Rising a bit, he gazed intently at his lover below him, relishing the sight of him becoming completely undone. He grinned as his hand picked up the pace and Azrael struggled to keep the chant going until he was at least inside him. Meeting the intent eyes of his lover, the angel’s blush deepened when he spread his legs in invitation.   
Removing his hand from his lover's cock, War carefully tested how relaxed his lover's entrance was. When he felt it was completely relaxed, he grabbed Azrael's shapely legs perhaps a tad too eagerly and pulled them over his hips. The golem-arm lifted and supported the lower back and the other grabbed the hips of the angel. With a steady but slow pace, War guided himself in his lover. For a few moments the other managed to keep the chant going, but then pleasure made him call out the War's name again. At once the passage clenched down, muscles tightening. At once the Rider stopped: it felt beyond glorious, but the sight of Azrael wounded in bed flashed before his eyes. He would not risk that happening again.  
Leaning down, War whispered calming words into Azrael’s ears, kissing them lightly. He nearly groaned when those slender legs wrapped around his hips again, the passage around his erection slowly unclenching as the scholar panted softly. Hesitantly he started moving, being rewarded with a pleasure-filled moan.  
Wrapping his arms around the thick neck of his beloved, Azrael turned his head to kiss the Rider. “War...” He groaned when the Horseman found the spot inside of him that made pleasure race through his veins.   
The Archangel's tongue started a new chant, unplanned and unintended: the small glade filled with whispers of the Rider's name, spilling from kiss-bruised lips.  
Hearing his beloved chant his name, a new fire ignited within the Horseman. Pumping harder, he made sure that he hit true every time. A groan rumbled from his throat at the pleasure coursing through his body. His original hand held even tighter onto the angel as it already had and his golem hand slowly travelled upwards, heading between the wings.  
Azrael's hands moved to cling to War's head as he leaned up to kiss the other again. “Beloved...” He moaned, entire body seeming on fire. “War...” He pressed his chest against the massive one pressing him down when feeling the cold steel between his wings. “My love...”  
War moved faster, feeling his orgasm coming close. Giving Azrael open-mouth kisses, he whispered. “Azrael... My mate.”   
“Mate...” The angel echoed, slipping one hand between their bodies to touch himself. “Yours...” He panted, before crying out in pleasure when his own orgasm overwhelmed him.  
The sounds his mate made and the sight of him completely undone were the most beautiful things War had ever experienced. He wished he could keep Azrael in this state forever, but alas, the clenching around his own member was enough to send him over the edge.   
He managed not to collapse on the angel, panting as he hung above Azrael before slowly and carefully removing himself from the mystic. He carefully pulled the other against his chest, managing to drag them so he could rest his back against a tree. Looking at the angel on his lap with an uncharacteristically soft expression, he slowly caressed the sweaty hair of the mystic.  
Azrael managed to more or less curl up against War's chest, his legs feeling like jelly. Purring lightly, the angel snuggled against the rider, covering them both with his wings. “Mine...” He whispered weakly, this close to falling asleep under the ministrations of his mate.  
Nuzzling Azrael, pulling him snugly against his chest, War rumbled contently: “Yours, forever.” He had never before felt this complete and just so... happy. He kept touching his mate, guarding him while he fell asleep with a serene smile.


	14. Chapter 14

After that day, War became far more affectionate with Azrael, searching out even the simplest touches with the angel. More than once they would just curl up on the couch, Azrael reading while War simply caressed him.  
Azrael found it quite soothing, to be honest. He sighed in content when the Horseman wrapped his golem-arm around the angel, holding him securely against his chest.  
It was also around this day the Archangel discovered a touch he enjoyed himself: brushing the Rider’s silky hair. He was almost jealous how it was longer than his own.  
About a week later, a letter manifested beside him. Word from the White City: they wanted to see him, see that the Horsemen were treating him well and all that. They would make these ‘check-ups’ annual.  
After assuring War he’d keep their budding relationship a secret, Azrael headed for the outpost he had been summoned to: Lostlight, restored to its’ former glory.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Azrael!” The Archangel was greeted by a surprisingly cheerful voice – for an angel, that is – as a four-winged male descended down from a balcony higher up.  
“Metatron.” Azrael smiled lightly, bowing his head briefly as the other touched down. “I was not aware you were now in charge of Lostlight.”  
“After what happened with Lucien, our dear Council decided they’d prefer someone with more... integrity to watch over the pools.” Metatron stood nearly a head taller than Azrael, wearing crème and white robes that had an iridescent sheen over them, changing colours as the focus of light shifted. Or - as Azrael thought with some amusement as he looked at the golden patterns embroidered in the expensive fabric - with their wearer’s mood as some people claimed. After all, for an angel he was excessively emotional, showing whatever he felt freely and making any and all decisions with as much regards to logic as to emotion. Despite that, few Azrael deemed more trustworthy in the entirety of Heaven.   
“And they thought you were the right person?” The blue-clad male countered with a faint chuckle. “I was not aware Heaven was in such dire straits.”  
His opposite laughed at that. “Ah Azrael, I have missed your dry humour.” He gestured to the building. “Join me, nephew, we have much to talk about.”  
“I am not your nephew.” It surprised the mystic how quickly they fell into their old patterns of behaviour. He knew exactly what the answer would be.  
He was not disappointed. “Your parents are as siblings to me, child.” Metatron rested a hand just under his wings. “And I believe it was you who started calling me ‘uncle’.”  
“Because it was far easier to pronounce as a child than ‘Metatron’ was.” He allowed himself to be led into the building. “So how fares Heaven?”  
“Same old, same old.” The taller male waved his hand dismissively. “You know them. At least it seems that the Horsemen are feared enough that Hell and Heaven both are slow to start duking it out. But that is not why you were summoned here. How fare you?”  
“I am coping.” Azrael hesitantly said. He was more than coping, of course, but he figured it better not to tell exactly how well. Even without having promised War that he would not speak of their relationship, it would do him no favours if the White City found out he was sleeping with his Warden.   
“So what do you do all day with yourself?” Metatron sat down on a low couch, his four wings neatly folding over the backrest. “I doubt they let you out of their sight much.”  
“They have taken to living together.” Azrael took a seat opposite of him. “I am not allowed to leave the immediate area of their home without supervision... like some errant child.”  
“You did not exactly use your fabled wisdom when Abaddon tricked you into his plan.” The elder pointed out with a tinge of sadness in his voice. “What did he tell you that you did not realize what he intended?”  
The younger male flinched at that. He could think of nothing to say in answer, the lie already heavy enough on his heart without adding even more to it. At least, not towards Metatron...  
“Azrael...” A hand took his. “None of us are perfect, you understand that right?”  
“Still...” The mystic pulled his hand free. “My ‘imperfection’ ended the Third Kingdom.”  
“Yet it is being reborn as we speak.” Metatron leaned back. “But enough of this, I suppose.” He levitated over some drinks. “You still did not tell me what do you do all day?”  
“Currently, I am back to translating.” Azrael accepted the drink, opting to omit the cooking and gardening. That his friend might understand would not mean anyone he told would as well and he could well deal with not any more drama in his life. “Apparently they took up residence on an old world – do not ask me which – and they asked me to look at the relics they’d find.  
“You always had a proclivity for that.” His ‘uncle’ chuckled. “Remember how you’d often miss classes because someone had given you a new book and you would not stop reading until you were finished? Used to drive your family mad with that.”  
“I still have that.” Azrael agreed, a faint smile playing around his lips. “As do you, if I remember properly.” He pointed accusingly at the four-winged male. “After all, you were the one who taught me.”  
“Guilty as charged.” The elder brushed some loose strands of his lightly-wavy hair aside. “Always irritated people like Hell when I did that. ‘Metatron, we are supposed to think of the laws, not read a random book you found!’...” He sighed in exasperation, flexing his hand. “They never considered that writing out an entire Codex does a number on one’s hand. The cramps were a nightmare.”  
“So you have told me... a couple thousand times by now.” Leaning back, Azrael took another sip of his drink. “I believe about every time when you tried to drive me to become a ‘scholar’ not a ‘scribe’.”  
“And it worked, you have to admit that.”


	15. Chapter 15

War sighed in relief when seeing Azrael appear outside the fortress. "How did it go?" He greeted the angel, noting that he did not seem overly tense or upset.  
"It went well." His lover smiled lightly at him, taking the offered hand. "It seems I will be visiting Metatron yearly. How did things go here? Did you survive without my cooking?"  
The Horseman laughed in answer, pressing the Archangel close briefly. "Barely." He chuckled, leading the other inside. "Though Death discussed something I think might upset you."  
"Oh?" The mystic asked, allowing the other to lead him to their room up in the tower.   
"He decided that we need some... agents, so to speak." War hesitantly began, dropping down onto their bed, pulling the lither male down beside him. "Since four is hardly enough to cover all of Creation sufficiently."  
"What does that have to do with me?" Azrael shrugged off some of his robes, levitating them to the holders at the wall. "I am still an Archangel of Heaven, War."  
"But you'll be here the next three centuries..." The Red Rider pointed out. "And even after that, you will still be mine just as much." His voice became a growl upon that last statement, the Nephilim's possessive nature coming to the fore as his normal hand touched the Mark he had left upon the angel.  
A shudder ran down the Gatekeeper's back at the tone and he merely nodded in answer, unsure of his voice.  
"But anyway..." The bulky male awkwardly got back on subject. "He remembered that I am... friends with a mercenary group. He intends to recruit them."  
"Demons?" Azrael asked softly.  
"Fallen." War awkwardly whispered. The reaction to that was almost as he had expected it to be.  
"Fallen?" The Archangel recoiled from him. For all his compassion and generosity, disdain for demons and Fallen still ran strong in the white-winged male. "You intend to trust Fallen? There is a reason why angels are cast from the White City, War!"  
"These are trustworthy, I had business with them before. I am heading out tomorrow to see them about this." The Nephilim reached for his lover, preventing him from moving further away. "For my sake, Azrael?"  
White eyes closed tightly and he could feel the tremors running through the other's body. "I'll try. But I cannot promise you anything." The angel finally whispered, looking at his mate again. "Can I come? I think it would be best if we are open and... and I'd like to meet them."  
"Of course." He was simply relieved that his mate had accepted the arrangement this quickly.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
"So... where are they then?" Azrael followed War as they travelled over Earth.  
"Last I heard they were on this island somewhere." The Nephilim steered Ruin into the interior. The three had appeared on one of the beaches, the sand promptly melting into glass under the horse's hooves. "We'll find them sooner or later, I am certain."  
"Or they find us." The angel carefully manoeuvred through the palms growing around them. It seemed that the demons only had been here a little, nothing hinting at their presence save the lack of humans. He looked around, occasionally picking up a fruit that seemed interesting to him.  
War's every sense was on high alert. It had been almost two centuries since he had last seen the company and he could not rule out that they might have grown hostile over the Premature Endwar. After all, everyone had blamed him for it until he had conclusively proven that it had been Abaddon who was to blame. There was no way he'd could be certain they got that memo as well.  
"I never quite realized how beautiful some places on Earth are." Azrael mused beside him, peeling a fruit with his magic. "First that glade, now this island..."  
War briefly glanced over to him, smiling lightly. "We can come here at a later date if you wish."  
"I'd like that." The Archangel nodded lightly, popping a piece of the orange flesh into his mouth.  
The Nephilim's eyes narrowed at the relaxed stance of the other. He'd have expected the angel to be more tense than this considering his statement about Fallen just the day before, yet it seemed like the mystic cared little for their surroundings.  
Bright blue eyes snapped open when he saw something flicker briefly and faintly around the angel. Was that a shield? Focusing all his senses, he was amazed when he indeed managed to notice the energies the other had erected for his protection. Were those rumours his elders told him about Marking true then? Did one truly share more than just a bond with a Marked? Was Azrael's magical acumen rubbing off on him? It was certainly the only explanation he could find that explained how he could have noticed the well-hidden shield.  
Tilting his head, War wondered absent-mindedly what Azrael would receive from him. Perhaps he'd ask Death when they got back. Looking around the forest again, he steered Ruin towards where he remembered a mountain-top to be. If he remembered properly, that was where Caim liked to set up camp: high above the surrounding lands so they could spot incoming forces. He just hoped the Fallen had not layered as much illusions as he normally did over their encampment...  
Every one of his senses snapped back to high alert when he heard the faint rustle of leaves. The Nephilim's instinct told him that it was not the wind.  
"Azrael." He softly warned, watching as the mystic's lips briefly formed unheard words. Taking another bite, his mate subtly raised one finger as he bit down.  
One enemy then. No demon then, they preferred numbers above stealth.  
The only true warning he got were the Archangel's eyes widening at something behind him. Of course, he would not be War if he could get caught off guard like that. The massive battle-axe was nowhere near his head when Chaoseater was long in position to intercept it. Both weapons met, War glancing to his side at the person that had dared attack him. Black wings... He had found the Fallen.


	16. Chapter 16

“Andras, you are still horrible at surprising me. ” War stated manner-of-factly when he recognized the male that had attacked him. While still pushing the axe from him, he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Creator that at least Andras was not truly hostile towards him. From the corner of his eye he saw Azrael approach and settle down beside him.   
The mercenary burst out in loud laughter. Removing his axe and pulling off his helmet, Andras grinned at War. “Seems to me your senses are still sharp. Tsk, no fun.” His blackened hair fell down to his shoulders and glowing orange eyes that would have done Death proud looked the Nephilim over slowly. Said Nephilim noted in amusement that the other male still looked like he had riffled through Creation’s garbage-heap for his armour and weapons: Maker, Angel, Demon and probably some other Old Ones were represented on his body...  
“Your definition of fun is sometimes very debatable.” The Rider dryly told him, lowering Chaoseater.  
“Oi, you never complained before.” Andras' grin turned bit more leery as he planted the axe beside him. “Well, War? Why are you searching us? Missing our ‘sparring’ matches?”  
Rolling his eyes, War stomped the angel in his shoulder. “First let me introd-...”  
“No need.” The Fallen interrupted War, looking slyly at the scholar in front of him. “Archangel Azrael, I'm honoured you deign us with your presence.” He bowed deeply to the Archangel, but anyone who had some fluency in the subtle language of wings – such as a certain eons-old scholar – could see at the way the Fallen held his pitch-black wings that he didn't meant anything of it.   
“So I see...” Azrael coolly answered him, folding his arms while his own wings were equally boldly displayed. Considering their size and form, that said something. “I take it you two are old friends?” He addressed his mate, voice just a touch colder than it normally was.   
War blinked at the green-clad male’s cool voice. “Yes, we are. I am good friends with most of the company.” He explained to him. “I once needed some assistance and information about a group of demons roaming. At a price, Caim – their leader – lend me a few of his warriors. That was how I met Andras.”   
“We kept an on and off contact, ever since. Though, were you this last century? Heaven and Hell were warring with each other suddenly. Caim forbade us from meddling with either side. ” The last sentence was muttered darkly by the Fallen.   
“Where are the rest of the company?” War enquired, looking at his tense lover briefly. At least they were not coming to blows yet. “I'm not that keen on having to repeat myself a dozen times.”  
“Most of us are fairly nearby, though Kunopegos is roaming around in her favourite area, I believe the humans used to call that place 'Bermuda Triangle'.” Andras rolled his eyes at this. “You know much she loves the sea. Naamah and Gremory are hunting... I'm not sure what but to be honest I don't give a flying fuck. Caim is somewhere here in the area, helping Vapula adjust to her newest set of wings, but we just need to contact him. He can easily call the others.” Grinning once again the Fallen swung an arm around War's shoulders. “After this is over we need to spar again. It’s been a good while since I had a worthy opponent.” One of his wings semi-curled around War. “Besides, you’re probably tense after so long.”   
“I’ll gladly spar.” War grinned back at the angel, choosing to ignore his last comment. “But you know I probably will defeat you.”  
“Phah!”  
“Shall we then?” The Archangel tersely asked, more than a little tense at the Fallen being so touchy with War.  
“I'll guide you to Caim.” With a wing-beats, the Fallen was up in the air and above the palm-trees covering the island.   
Nodding to Azrael, War said, “It is better if you fly with Andras. I'll follow you two below with Ruin.”   
Taking a deep breath, the angel did as War told him, joining the Fallen up in the air. It sure had to be an interesting sight to see them together like this.   
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
After a short while of flying, Andras suddenly stopped. Pointing at a flat area half-way up the mountain, he announced, “Caim and Vapula.” Two silhouettes were visible, one hovering while the other watched.   
Landing some distance of two, Andras called out lazily. “Caim, we have some visitors!”  
The taller male’s substantial wings opened wide as he turned his steel gaze at the arrivals.   
“Caim...” It took all Azrael had to keep his voice even when seeing the face of the Fallen’s commander. He had taken a new name, it appeared, but he could damn well tell who the Fallen had been. The Archangel landed on the rocky area as well, rearranging his robes. A short distance away, Andras was already in a deep discussion with the female.  
Giving the Archangel a small but respectable nod, Caim folded his wings again. If he had recognized the white-winged male, he did not show it. Lifting one of his eyebrows, he addressed Azrael with a surprisingly melodic voice. “Archangel, what brings you here? I highly doubt because you are in need of our services?”  
“Of a sort, I am.” Azrael gestured to the slope down into the forest. “Though I am mostly company for War, who is on his way up.  
“Ah, the Horsemen are requesting our services once again, though-” Studying Azrael with his orange eyes, the Commander continued. “It's the first time one of them is accompanied with one of the higher circles of Heaven. Orders from the Council of the White City tend to come to us a bit more... subtle.”  
“I do not represent the White City in this.” Azrael assured him, wondering if it would have been faster if they had flown down to meet War there. “Nor anyone save the Horsemen.”  
“Oops, forgot to give you a lift, but then again you were always more of active sort.” Andras grinned at War when the Red Rider finally reached the plateau they were on.   
Glaring at the small-winged male, War got off Ruin. “Liar.”  
A small smile twitched around the Commander’s lips as the Nephilim marched up to him. “Greetings War. ”   
“Greetings Caim.” He then stared at Vapula’s elaborate mechanical wings. “You let Azazel go wild? What did I miss?”  
The smile broke through now. “I have curbed a great deal of Azazel's enthusiasm. Besides, she designed these herself.”  
Azrael moved to stand beside his lover, for now folding his wings neatly at his back.   
“So War, Archangel Azrael has already mentioned that you wish to do business with us again... I have heard rumours that the Charred Council has fallen and you all have become renegades.” Caim leaned closer to War stone-faced. “Though I also heard that some angels started the Endwar prematurely and pinned it on you. Is any of this true?”  
“Yes, some individuals had started the End War early but it was the Charred Council who decided to pin the blame upon me.” The youngest Nephilim answered darkly, snarling at the memory of the treachery done to him.   
“Strange tidings indeed. If you don't mind War I rather want to this discuss with you in private. No disrespect intended, Archangel Azrael.” The Fallen glanced to the white-haired male beside the Rider.  
“I understand.” Azrael said, looking briefly at War. “I’ll go stretch my wings a bit more then.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Andras, Vapula, patrol the imminent area. War and I must not be disturbed. I will call you both when we are done.” Glancing the flying Archangel, Caim added. “And keep an eye at him. Make sure the White City won’t pull a fast one. ”  
War in turn tried to placate the Fallen. “Azrael has nothing to do with the White City, Caim. There is no need to be weary of him, I can assure you. ”   
Caim nodded, but with a twitch of his wings, he still gave the signal to the two angels to do what he had said. Andras flew up, intending to head towards the Archangel as Vapula flew up the mountain-side.   
Azrael had intended to head up to the clouds, but soon noticed that he was being followed. He stopped, half-turning to the other angel approaching him. “Are you to be my guard now?”  
Flying near the Archangel, Andras in fake innocence spread his hands. “Making sure that our guest remains unharmed. Enemies tend to appear suddenly in the last century.” Tilting his head, the Fallen gazed at Azrael. “Why does an Archangel accompany a Rider, when it's not due to orders of the White City?”   
“I do on occasion leave the White City.” Azrael crossed his arms lightly. The fake innocence was not lost on him. Straga might have bested him, but there were few other demons that could and that was damn near common knowledge... “I was visiting the Horseman when he told me he had to go here. Unwilling to stay behind, I asked if I could accompany him.”  
“Hmmm, never imaged scholars like you to visit the more war-orientated Riders. Thought Death would be more of your type.” The black-winged male mused. He then turned in the direction of War and Caim discussing. “I hope the subject isn't too dire.” His lips formed a leery smile. “I would like spar once again, for old times sake.”   
“Is that an invitation?” Azrael opted to ignore the first few comments. “Very well, though I did not bring a weapon if you want me to use that...”  
“Oh, I was more thinking about War, but if you are volunteering... ” The Fallen was still carrying his battle-axe, as well as two short swords, of which he passed one to the Archangel.   
The Scholar accepted the blade the younger angel handed him, testing the weight in his hand. Heavier than the blades he usually used on the rare occasions that he did spar with a blade.   
Unsheathing his own blade the warrior grinned menacingly, showing all of his teeth. “Ready to battle, pretty wings?” The dark wings bristled, feathers rising and spreading, giving the angel a more crazed look.   
‘Pretty Wings’ sighed softly, raising his blade so it shielded his face. He would not enjoy this. The other immediately went on the attack, using his inexperience. He managed to block the blade though, moving backwards to get some range in. He briefly entertained the idea to attack in turn, but that would be rather foolish with the other still this fresh. He’d just get himself in trouble.  
“What's wrong, pretty wings? Shy?” The Fallen gloated, trying to get a rise out of the Archangel. He hovered now in one place, ruffled wings beating in a steadfast rhythm.  
“No, but I only react to Azrael.” The Archangel countered, also hovering. “Perhaps if you used my given name...”  
With a strong beat, Andras rose up and then dive-bombed to the archangel. His blade clanged against his opponent's. The Fallen sneered. It seemed that despite his inexperience, the white-winged male did know some things about wielding a sword.  
“Guess that is a no?” Azrael asked calmly as he was being pushed back. His strength was no match for the Fallen’s and he was losing altitude.  
Dislike for the Archangel mounting, Andras gave him a hard boot to his chest. Maybe roughing the angel up, would get the earthworm-loving pigeon down from his high horse.   
Azrael gasped in pain, being sent backwards by the force of the attack. He managed to get his flight back under control, but was just a touch too late to prevent himself completely from smacking into quite a few branches. He hissed when a broken branch cut one of his wings lightly.  
“Oh dear, scratched your pretty wing?” Andras said to the hurt angel in mock concern. “You are boring. I can't wait until the meeting is over. I need to discuss his choice of company with War.”  
“I am no warrior.” Azrael reminded the other, briefly studying the wound on his wing. He whispered a few words under his breath, electricity arching over the blade of the other up to the hilt. It would sting badly once it reached the hand.  
The moment the electricity reached him, Andras yelled in pain. Cursing in angelic and demonic language, the fallen swung his sword at the Archangel, who had gotten some time to recover and managed to dodge upwards, swinging his own sword down at the other.  
Blocking the sword with his own, Andras pushed it away from him, creating a vulnerable place to strike. With other hand he grabbed the handle of his axe. Fucking Archangel. He’d show that bastard!  
Just he wanted to bury it in the immaculate robes a shot hit his hand, making him drop the weapon. Glancing to see why, he cursed again. “Vapula, you tin-winged bitch, stay out of this!”   
“You can’t kill him.” Vapula reminded the other Fallen, un-rattled by his cursing. By the look of things Andras had once again lost control of his temper... This would end badly for him. “You’d get us all into deep trouble from the White City and the Horseman.”  
Recovering from his surprise, Azrael shot backwards, putting some distance between himself and the black-haired male. “It is alright, Vapula, I can handle myself.”  
Enraged at his target disappearing on him, Andras dashed towards the Archangel. Smacking the sword aside, he kicked the other male again. Only to have another shot glance off his armor, distracting him from doing more.   
Azrael was pretty darn sure he would have to explain to War where that huge bruise came from later on. He wheezed lightly, feeling like there might actually be a broken rib or two in his chest now. His jaw tightened when he realized that meant he could not formulate any kind of spell.   
“What happened here!?” A loud booming voice stopped the Fallen male from turning on his fellow company-member. Below them, War had reacted to the pain he had felt from Azrael through their bond and had come here without even explaining anything to Caim, who had followed him and was now looking in horror at the scene in front of him.


	18. Chapter 18

Azrael groaned in pain, sinking down to the ground. Oh yes, they were broken.  
"What happened here!?" Caim repeated War's question, looking from the Archangel to his two company-members. The large-winged Fallen looked almost a touch frantic as War rushed over to the rune-winged male. "Andras, have you lost your mind!?"  
Still holding his axe, Andras touched down. He did not answer his commander.  
"Was... my fault..." Azrael breathed. "Pushed... his buttons..." Like Hell would he jeopardize War's business.   
The Nephilim frowned at him, probing his chest gently. "Regardless, Caim, you still know healing-spells, right? Some of his ribs are broken."  
"Yes... yes, of course." The Fallen's touch was gentle as he chanted several angelic enchantments and healing the wounds of the Archangel. "My apologies, Archangel Azrael, I do not know what possessed Andras."  
"It... it is alright." Azrael carefully touched his chest. "As said, it was my own fault. I overestimated myself and intentionally pushed him to go all-out." He hissed lightly when getting up, War standing at his side. Looking over Caim's shoulder, he noticed the face of the small-winged male. It looked like he could not believe his ears. "My apologies for interrupting your talk."  
"We were mostly done." War looked between Andras and his lover. "Caim was going to talk to the company." He was frowning still.  
Hesitantly Caim backed away, before turning to the two others. "Head to camp." He sharply ordered them, before turning once more to War and Azrael. "Will you be joining us?"  
War shook his head and the Fallen left.  
"So... this would be the first time you pushed someone." The bulkier male turned to his lover when they were alone with only Ruin a short distance away.  
"There is a first for everything." The mystic looked at the wound on his wing, considering whether he ought to heal that or let it heal by itself.  
"Of course." War sighed. "They'll be a couple hours at least. Anything you wish to do meanwhile?"  
"Maybe a bath." The angel looked himself over. With his crash into the trees, his clothes were not exactly clean anymore. He frowned in distaste when seeing that some of his blood had dripped down on his shoulder. "Do you know if there is some pond on here?"  
"I think there is one." The Nephilim tried to think back to last time he was here. "But are you sure? Caim's company is big. There is the chance they might run into us."  
"I can put up some wards." Azrael chuckled. "I was not aware you minded people seeing you naked."  
"I... I more thought you'd mind." War admitted, heading for Ruin. As he climbed on and offered Azrael a hand to join him, he added. "I figured that angels are a bit... pruddish in that regard. Considering all those rules you have."  
"Oh?" The angel joined him on the horse. "Well, we are not pruddish. Just... selective with our lovers. According to Ab... according to some warriors I know, the barracks can be a very interesting place at times."  
"Now that puts an image in my head." Steering Ruin through the trees, the male in front blinked.  
"Of an angelic orgy?" He could hear the smile in the angel's voice.  
"Something like that." War felt his lover tremble at that, more chuckling coming from behind him.  
"It sounds as if you like the thought." Azrael rested his head on the shoulder of the male before him.  
"Well..." War's face was aflame. "We were created by Lilith, after all." Truth was, he had fantasized about it... Particularly when he had still been with the Nephilim, not that he'd ever tell Azrael that as well as several other fantasies he had. Strife might have been the only one who fell into Lilith's clutches before Death could give him the talk, but none of them were truly free of the desire of roughly subduing their mates and keeping them in submission.  
"True..." Azrael mused softly. "So... you want to have an orgy with several angels?"  
He took it all back. There was no way his face did not have the color of his hood now. "I... you..."  
The warm chuckles almost made the embarrassment worth it.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
The sky began to turn orange-red, when in distance a group of angels could be seen. Azrael and War had been on the beach, enjoying the setting Sun when War spotted them. Dusting himself off, War got up and looked at the seven Fallen landing a short distance from them. “Oh no...”  
“What is wrong?” Azrael stood up from where he had been half-meditating on the ground. His answer came when one of the Fallen rushed War.  
“WINGLESS ONE! Now stand still so can I take your measurements!”  
“AZAZEL, GET AWAY FROM ME!” War slapped the smith's probing fingers away. Looking enraged at Caim's and Andras' amused faces, he snarled. “Why is he here!?”  
Andras shrugged. “He kinda wanted to join and see you.”  
Azrael could not stop the chuckle from escaping him. “While they are hunting and being hunted respectively...” He pointed at War and the smith while addressing Ciam. “May I ask what your decision was?”  
“We will ally ourselves with the Horsemen, ” Caim answered solemnly, wondering a bit at why the Archangel would care about that.  
“But Wingless One, how will you attract a good spouse if you can't preform the Skyda-” Came from somewhere in the distance, interrupting the two large-winged angels.  
“Damn you, mad angel, how many times I have to tell you? I. Am. Not. An. Angel. I'm a Nephilim!”, War seethed in return, still evading the probing fingers of Azazel. He was damn certain there had to be a Maker in that angel's lineage.  
Azazel protested vehemently. “Nonsense, you do not look like one and I have seen aplenty. Let me craft you some beautiful wings, so you can find yourself your other half.”  
“I already found a mate!” The Nephilim countered in desperation.   
Screeching to a halt, Azazel eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets. “A mate??? YOU FOUND YOURSELF A DEMON MATE! How could you! You can do so much better!”  
Azrael was surprised at the automatic assumption that War would be with a demon. He tried to catch War’s gaze, wondering if he or the Horseman should clear up this misunderstanding.   
The Rider rolled his eyes “No, I do not have a demonic mate. I do have some taste, thank you. ” Hoping that Azazel would leave him alone, he added. “I found an angelic one.”  
Hovering a meter above the ground, Azazel peered at the Rider. “And how can I be sure you are not fibbing.”  
“Because I can back him on that.” Azrael finally spoke up, stepping up to the Nephilim. “War does have an angelic mate. Me.”


	19. Chapter 19

All the Fallen stared in astonishment at the Archangel after that statement. There was long silence... which was broken by Azazel's screeching voice. “Now you must get yourself wings! You can't deny your Soulmate a flight!”  
Andras, shocked awake by the loud voice, unhelpfully added; “War, I’m sure your mate would like to see you with wings.”  
“SEE!!! Come here, let me...” Dodging from the smith again, War raised an angry fist at Andras. The angel however just shrugged and walked in the direction of Azrael.   
“Just give in.” Azrael suggested to his mate. “We can get them off later.” He turned to look at the approaching Fallen, not entirely sure if he should be worried at the look in the white eyes.  
“The reason why War is reluctant to take up Azazel's offer is that his experiments tend to be bloody. Though, once you get past that, they are interesting to behold. ” The Fallen stopped near Azrael and then continued on a softer tone of voice, making sure nobody could hear except the Archangel. “Thank you for not telling War and Caim, about the incident.”  
“No problem.” Azrael whispered back, leaning lightly towards the Fallen. “In other words, we ought to help War, not Azazel?” He continued on normal volume, looking at his mate and the smith. “Any suggestions?”  
“Unless you do want a winged mate, I can tackle Azazel. Do you know any sleeping spells to throw at him?” Andras answered while also staring at the bickering Nephilim and angel.  
“I know a couple.” The white-winged male nodded. “On three?”  
“On three.” After whispering the countdown, Andras dashed towards the mad smith, circling both arms and wings around him with his tackle.   
“What the... UNHAND MEEE!!” Azazel screeched on a tone of voice more fitting with a harpy than a male angel.  
“NOW!”   
A few choice words of the scholar and a wave of sleep came over the smith. Azrael watched as he fell asleep where he stood, slumping against the Fallen. “He'll wake up in a couple hours.”  
War let out a sigh of relief. It normally took him hours to shake off Azazel. Caim approached the Horseman and patted his shoulder. “Like I said before to Archangel Azrael, we have accepted the alliance.”  
Andras laid down the sleeping smith more or less gently – earning himself a glare from Caim in the process – and while grinning at the Archangel, inquired. “So, how did you two get together?”  
“Strife.” Azrael answered, bending over to check on the smith. “He played matchmaker... not THAT successfully at first.”  
Laughing at the mental image, the Fallen replied. “I can imagine, though I'm surprised he did not harass you about your intentions.”   
“Which intentions?” Azrael raised one eyebrow as he looked up. It took him only a few moments to put two and two together. Fury had mentioned how they would grill - sometimes kill - War's previous lovers. And then there had been the greeting between the two of them… “You were a lover of War?” He demanded sharply.  
Coughing in discomfort, Andras looked everywhere but the Archangel. “Not exactly...” Like Hell he’d tell stuff like that to War’s MATE, particularly when said mate could nuke the island if he so pleased.  
“But you slept with him?” Azrael crossed his arms, glaring at the Fallen. “Just spit it out.”  
“Fine. Yes, War and I did used to sleep together.” Sighing and pinching the upper bridge of his nose, Andras grumbled. “You don't need to worry, 't was nothing serious.”  
In answer, Azrael got a contemplating look on his face.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“And this is Kunopegos, my second-in-command.” Caim had taken to introducing War’s lover to his company – or at least the key-members of it. War himself had left briefly to inform his siblings of the Fallen’s acceptance. “And these are Gremory and Naamah, my head-healer and head-sleeper respectively.”  
Behind the Archangel, Andras snorted. In front of Azrael, the scantily-clad female threw a glower at her commander. “I am not.”  
“You kind of are.” The athletic female that had been introduced as Kunopegos countered. Her long dreadlocks bounced as she turned to the other female.  
“Oh, for Heck’s sake, I am not that bad.” Naamah pouted, a frown marring her comely visage.  
Azrael raised one eyebrow lightly. She wore less than Lilith and what little clothes she wore were red and black all over. At least he did not need to wonder why she had been cast from the White City.  
“You are.” Caim’s tone broke no argument as he continued to the rune-winged male beside him. Of the cluster on the mountain-top, they were the only large-winged angels, all others having the smaller, more common variant. “Though that is not why she is a prized member of my group. That comes down to her skill with using said sleeping for bribery, assassination and the like…” He trailed off. “Perhaps not skills the White City values, but…”  
“Necessary skills for Fallen.” Azrael finished. “I am well aware of the differing practices, Commander.”  
“Caim is fine, Archangel.” The Fallen continued introducing several others that were there.  
When War returned, his lover was in a hesitant but open conversation with several of the Fallen.  
“Figures you’d find bonding-ground on magic.” The Horseman briefly touched the angel’s arm, his face blank.   
“What did you expect?” Azrael smiled lightly at him. “I can hardly talk to them about weaponry, now can I?”  
“And he refuses to tell us about how you two got together.” Andras stepped in with a pout on his comely face. He was half-hanging on Azrael, for some reason. “Though I did get him to agree to another sparring-match, so there is that.”  
This time, it was War who had to resist the urge to punch the Fallen for hanging on his lover.


	20. Chapter 20 NSFW

Several days later, black wings twitched as their owner woke from his slumber. Andras yawned softly, careful not to wake the other two he was sharing the bed with. Since they both were still deeply asleep, he decided to try and get out.  
“Mmmh…” The male he had been sleeping against stirred just as the Fallen finished putting on his shoes. “Leaving already, Andras?”  
“I’d rather not explain to Caim where I was.” The slighter male grinned a bit.  
“So it seems.”The other beckoned him over. The moment Andras was near enough, his powerful golem hand shot out, closing around the black-haired head. When he spoke again, his voice was a dangerous growl. “Just between you and me, if anything gets out about this… if you sully his reputation, you are death, friend or not.”  
The Fallen quickly nodded. “I have no intention of doing anything like that.”  
“You better not.” War carefully disentangled himself from Azrael. “So were you just going to leave?”  
“Figured that might be better.” Gesturing to the still sleeping Archangel with his head the Fallen slipped into his tunic. “He’ll be unbalanced enough without waking up next to a Fallen.”  
Raising one eyebrow, War reached for his own clothes.   
“Oh come on.” The angel rolled his eyes. “He’s an Archangel… Threesome? Fallen? Neither are normally associated with that title, you know. He has to care for you a great deal to do both just to make you happy.”  
The Nephilim blinked at that and Andras could tell his face softened as the blue-glowing eyes looked at Azrael.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
The next year was as close to bliss as he dared proclaim anything. Sadly, bliss does not last long.  
“Are you alright?” Azrael had just returned from the second check-up, again having been summoned to Lostlight by Metatron. Since then, the scholar had withdrawn from his lover. Said lover now demanded an explanation.  
“It’s… it’s just that…” The mystic struggled to find his words, it seemed. “Apparently, Uriel’s attraction – if I may call it that – to Abaddon has become public knowledge in Heaven.” He sighed, fidgeting with the book he had been reading. “They are currently determining if her judgment was impaired while he was… you know…”  
“And that upsets you… because?” War took the book from his hands, gently cradling them in his own.  
“It just… reminded me of the Codex Bellum.” The angel shivered a bit. “I am truly losing all my senses these last few centuries… first the Endwar and now you…” Azrael pulled his hands free, covering his face with them. “I have become barking mad.”  
Flinching lightly at that statement, War firmly forced the angel to look at him. “Explain.”  
“You remember my talk about the Codex Bellum… back when the Abomination Vault crisis was?” Without waiting for an answer, the normally composed but now unbalanced angel continued. “Where do you think you are in there? You are not considered… if Heaven found out that I am with you, I might as well ask Samael for a job-opening… They will cast me down… Or most likely, kill me so that my power passes to no one. And that will mean war.” At that last bit, he looked at his lover a bit shyly, unsure if he had not perhaps misjudged the other’s feelings.  
“Heaven would be a ruin if they killed you, yes.” War smiled lightly at the angel. “Would you prefer if we broke this off?” He would not force the angel into anything.  
“I…” For all intents and purposes, Azrael looked like a lost puppy right now. “I wanted this for… for so long… but the Codex…” He bit his lip and to his astonishment the Nephilim saw tears in his eye-corners.  
“Whatever you decide, I will accept it.” Hesitantly the Rider reached over, pressing a chaste kiss to the scholar’s cheek. “Do you wish to be alone?”  
“No.” Wrapping his arms around War, Azrael buried his face in the other’s neck. “Please… make love to me? I need you…”  
“Are you sure?” It took little strength to move his lover to his lap, wrapping his arms around the lithe male. “You are upset.”  
“Yes.” The angel looked up, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I need you.” He repeated, a bit more insistent this time.  
“If you insist.”War tipped Azrael's chin upwards and kissed the angel. He began in a slow motion, guiding Azrael from the couch they had been sitting on towards the bed.   
The angel returned the kiss, pouring all his love and desire into this simple meeting of lips. He pulled away War’s hood as they moved to the bed, twining his hands into the snow-white hair.  
With a quick movement, War picked up Azrael and carried him to the bed. Reaching the bed, he gently deposited the scholar on top the sheets, minding the wings.   
Azrael still marveled at how strong the Horseman exactly was. He sat up, shrugging off his robes before helping War remove his armor, kissing the now-exposed skin. His wing twitched when War caressed it and he rose to his knees to trail his lips up to the Horseman’s face. Using one hand to steady himself against the other’s bulky frame, he used the remaining to push down his pants, before wrapping it around War’s neck.  
The moment War felt the angel wrapping his arms around him, he kissed him fiercely on his mouth again. Pushing him down, he removed his pants and kicked them aside. He moved on top of the angel and latched his lips to the nape of his mate's neck. His mate wrapped his wings around them, hands clinging to the shoulders of the male above him. “Claim me...” He whispered, nails digging into the skin beneath them.  
Hearing the whispers, War re-Marked Azrael's neck with his sharp teeth. After the Marking the Nephilim licked the spot, soothing the pain away. Satisfied, War commenced to move his lips down, kissing and licking the smooth chest. He noted with smug pleasure that Azrael’s slender fingers clutched the coarse fabric of the bed-sheets beneath them and his wings trembled as he felt War’s lips on his chest. He loved how the scholar tasted and the moans were also a very nice bonus.


	21. Chapter 21 NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Start of the Mpreg

War briefly broke of his kissing of Azrael to get up from the bed and walk over to a cupboard. After some rummaging, he seemingly found what he was looking for. Grinning, he returned to the bed, crawling back onto Azrael.   
“What do you have there?” The angel tried to see what the Horseman had brought as the other male positioned himself between the olive-skinned legs. He held up the item so that the angel could see it more clearly: oil.   
“Something to make sure everything goes... smoothly.” A crooked smile appeared on the Nephilim’s face. “So you don't have to stay for long periods standing upright, while reading your scrolls like last time.”  
Azrael chuckled lightly. “Thank you for your concern.” He quipped with a small smile, spreading his legs a bit wider in invitation. “You planned this, I suppose?” He stretched his wings briefly, hands trailing down his legs. Goose-bumps appeared in their wake.  
“Thought it might come handy, someday.” The bulky male smirked, watching the roving hands of the angel. He immensely enjoyed the sight. Pouring some of the oil in his normal hand, he moved closer to prepare the scholar. With his oil slicked finger, he teased the entrance gently. Noticing that the angel was still too tense, the Rider leaned forward to kiss the inside one of the legs. “Relax...”  
“Sorry...” Azrael whispered, willing himself to relax. He took a couple deep breaths, wrapping a hand around his erection, stroking it lightly. Soon he was squirming against War's finger. He moaned when the finger slit inside, hand around his erection speeding up almost against his will. The scholar nearly screamed when the questing digit found that one spot inside that made his veins surge with fire. His hands slipped from what they were holding, clutching the bed-sheets as he looked into burning blue eyes.  
The breathless moans were music to War's ears. Finding and touching the pleasure spot made the solemn angel completely undone.   
Azrael moaned even louder, head now long thrown back as three fingers moved inside him. “Take me...” He reached for the Rider, pulling lightly at his hair. “Claim me as yours...” He trembled, his hand tightened in the snow-white hair. “Please...”  
Obeying his mate's wish, War removed his hand, picked up the angel, and planted him on his lap with little ceremony. Due to the oil and the careful preparation, the erection entered in a fluid motion. The Horseman circled both of his arms around the angel's waist; one arm kept Azrael steady and the golem hand grasped the back of the mystic’s head. Tugging at the white hair so the neck laid once again bare, War nipped at the fresh Mark and started moving.   
His lover gasped, being rendered all but helpless at his mate's movements. He moaned as he felt the teeth of the Horseman on his neck. The angel grasped the other's shoulders, starting to move along with him. His wings beat the air lightly, propelling his body up and down.  
Feeling the angel moving along with him by the use of his wings, the Rider began to participate in earnest; thrusting deep inside his partner, going even deeper due to the oil and their position. Unable to contain himself, he growled in pleasure.  
Azrael moved his wings harder, increasing the speed and strength of his thrusts. He clung to his partner, gasping every time he was filled. “War...” He breathed the word against the white hair in front of his face, the scent of the Horseman filling his nostrils, inciting his passion and desire. “More...” He whispered, nails digging into the warm sand-colored skin of his partner. “Creator... MORE.” It was a demand, his voice raw with emotion.  
Still gripping the hair of his mate, the Nephilim removed his other arm from the Angel's waist and stroked his mate's member, increasing the pleasure. Azrael voicing his pleasure drove him mad and he wanted to hear more of it.   
Azrael yelped at the touch upon his organ, throwing his head back in ecstasy. Pleasure blinded him, his nails now all but drawing blood with the strength they held onto War. The beat of his wings turned erratic, losing all sense of rhythm or even mere synchronicity with each other. He moved now only by his legs and the Horseman's arms.  
War could feel and see that Azrael was becoming undone. Face flushed, lungs desperate for air and the whole body moving and trembling against him. Panting, he pulled at the platinum hair, uncovering one ear and moved closer to it, so he could whisper hoarsely. “Let go... I want hear you...”   
Even if War had said nothing, Azrael would have come at that moment…  
But something was different from their previous times. Despite never having done so before in his life, his arcane energies activated without his command, flooding his body. The glyphs on his wings blazed with light, a radiance almost brighter than the sun pouring from his every orifice. Heat filled the room and Azrael was frozen in position by his own, suddenly turned-on-him magics. Not even the Horseman's incredible strength would have been able to move even a single hair on the scholar's head as the power turned to the body beneath the Watcher of the Well, flooding it as much as they had the slender angel's frame. From outside the room, it almost looked like someone had summoned the Sun down into it.  
Both light and agony – coming from Azrael – attacked War's senses that the same time. Never he had felt such strong arcane magic course through him; his eyes first saw white and soon afterwards there was only darkness.


	22. Chapter 22

Far beyond the White City there is an outpost named Fading Dawn. Unlike sentinels over Hell like Lostlight or Silverwall, it is mostly used for angels to retreat from the never-ceasing buzz of the main city. A library, not as vast as the one at the Argent Spire or the one housed in the Ivory Citadel, is its’ proud centerpiece. What very few angels – and even fewer outsiders – know, is that this seemingly unimportant outpost contains the greatest collection of divine relics in the entirety of Heaven.  
Currently, a female was standing in the part of the tower only very few had access to. She had been attending some of the relics that had returned with the Hellguard from Earth when a feeling had risen in the back of her mind. Now her eyes were closed as her inner eye followed the mental disturbance. Four magnificent wings twitched at her back, the weak breeze rustling the feathers that adorned her clothes.  
Very few angels wore feathers, thinking it uncomfortable to wear something that occurred naturally on their bodies. But she seemed to adore them: over a dark-blue set of pants she wore a long white skirt adorned with dark-blue, which was open at the front and was covered on the inside with swan’s feathers. A golden belt held another layer of longer feathers – secondary feathers from an Ortho – and dove-feathers circled her neck and covered part of her ornamental breast-plate. Her hands, encased in white silk, closed and opened rhythmically as she closed in on the disturbance.  
The hallways between the high bookcases holding the relics were too narrow for her to fly. As such, when she found the disturbance, she had to run to reach the exit. The high heels of her knee-high boots echoed in the stairwell until a window presented itself from which she could fly.  
“My lady?” Several guards had flown up when seeing her jump out of a window high up the central tower, worried at this move of hurry. She did not do hurried…  
“One of you, send word to Metatron.” Her gaze was dark. “I must speak to him at once.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
When Azrael woke, the pain in his stomach was nearly gone, only a faint echo remaining. He was in bed still, covered in blankets. From outside the room, hushed voices floated in. “War…?”  
He smiled weakly when the door was opened at once, his lover rushing over to him in worry. “Are you alright?”  
“I… I am fine.” The angel moved to sit upright, taking the Nephilim’s hand in his. “What… what exactly happened?”  
“You activated your magics during sex.” Fury stood in the door-opening, arms crossed. “The lightshow was visible for miles. When I got here, both you and War were out.”  
“I did?” Frowning, Azrael tilted his head. “Not voluntarily… I…” He fell silent, something nagging at the back of his mind. Un-voluntary use of magics was not known outside of life-and-death situations save for…   
The Scholar paled. “Creator…” It could not be! He jumped up, pushing aside War while rushing to the north-side of their room. Opposite to the door leading to the balcony was a massive full-body mirror – another one of War’s courting-gifts after Azrael off-handedly mentioned missing having one. Pressing both hands against the cool glass, he whispered several spells in rapid succession, ignoring the two others in the room with him completely. A faint light surrounded his mirror-image, pulsing in tune with his raging heart-beat. “It can’t be…”  
War hesitantly approached his mate when the slighter male collapsed in front of the mirror, staring with wide eyes at his mirror-image. “Azrael…?” Fury staid back, a look of worry in her eyes.  
“I… no…” Trembles ran through the slender body, wings locking tight against the heaving back. “Creator… Heaven help me…”  
“Azrael.” The Nephilim male turned the near-hyperventilating male around. When Azrael’s eyes no longer looked at the mirror the glows faded around their images faded. “What is wrong?”  
“War…” It seemed almost as if the trembling was worsening now that they were face-to-face. “I… I didn’t…” Burying his face in his hands, the Archangel choked out. “How could I let this happen?”  
“Let what happen?” Gently the Rider pried his hands away. “What happened here?” He noted in worry that the shining white eyes seemed terrified as they looked at him.  
“What… what do you know of the differences between the magics of angels and demons?” The scholar trembled still, though he relaxed some when War let go of his hands. He promptly wrapped them around himself.  
“Well, the angels do Holy light and all that and the demons do necromancy…?” In his mind, War was relieved that his cluelessness could still make the angel chuckle a bit, although weakly.  
“Life and Death.” Azrael’s wings twitched. “Demons wield Death – pun un-intended – while angels wield Life.” He bit his lip. “We heal, they kill.” The angel almost shyly looked at the Nephilim. “You perhaps know off the healing… miracles? Limbs restored, mortal wounds healed?”At War’s nod – and Fury’s, though he paid her no heed at the moment – he continued. “They all stem from our magic of Life, our innate answer to the demon’s necromancy…” Curling up around himself, his next words were mere whispers. “It… it sometimes culminates… in powerful and old individuals – most of the time mystics – in a… different way… That is… if circumstances are right… and… and a host of requirements are met… and…” His hair hid his face now. “That… that pain… that was the manifestation of the culmination… if one can call it so…”  
The Red Rider could feel the effort it took his lover to keep talking through the bond of his Mark. Said effort was mixed with outright terror… And so he said nothing, allowing his mate to get to the point at his own pace.  
“That pain… it were my organs shifting… a new organ being formed…” Finally Azrael looked up, his eyes even wider and more fearful than before as his wings moved to shield his trembling body. “I… I am with child.”  
The world just stopped. “What…?” Of all the explanations he had thought up himself, this one had not been among them. A child…?  
“I… am pregnant.”


	23. Chapter 23

“Leave us.” War looked over his shoulder at his sister, who nodded before she descended the stairs leading down the tower. He could probably have been a touch politer, but his mind was kind of focused on one thing only at the moment. Looking at Azrael, he found that the angel had shrunk back from him even more.  
There was a jolt of pain in his heart when the winged male flinched when he reached for him. Then again, it probably was not normal that a male had to tell his lover he was pregnant. “Are you alright?”  
Wide, white eyes blinked in answer. “Yes… I… the pain is gone.” Azrael’s trembles started again when the hot hand of the Rider touched his cheek. “I’m… sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault.” War’s hand dropped lower, slowly making its’ way to the belly where his child was now growing. “Did… did you know this… would happen?”  
The scholar shook his head as it gently wormed itself underneath his arms to rest against the skin of his stomach. “I… I knew that it… could happen to me… would happen to me... Ancient, powerful mystic and all that… but I did not… did not expect that… you and me…”  
“That a Nephilim could breed with an Angel.” The Nephilim finished his lover’s sentence. “You are not alone in that.” He pulled his hand back, tilting the mystic’s head back up to look at him. “You are terrified of me. Why?”  
“Are… are you not upset?” Azrael whispered, looking for all the world as if he was trying to shrink into nothing.  
“I…” Was he upset? Certainly shocked, yes, worried, definitely… but upset? “No. No, I am not upset.” War leaned over, pressing a soft kiss against the Archangel’s cheek. “I am many things, but not upset.”  
At the touch of the Horseman’s lips, the trembling grew worse than it had been at any earlier point. The lither male tried to speak, but no sound would leave his mouth as tears formed in his eyes. Burying his face in his hands, dry heaves soon turned into broken sobs.  
Worried at the storm of emotions he felt through their bond, his lover gently pulled him into a protective embrace, cradling him in his arms until he exhausted himself.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Several hours later, Azrael had finally returned to a somewhat presentable state. After a long bath, the both of them headed downstairs where by now both Strife and Death had returned from their forays and had been informed of what had happened by Fury.  
War was actually a bit sad that he had missed their immediate reactions to the news. He snorted when Death swore he wouldn’t under any circumstances raise or watch the kid – he had had enough with the three of them, thank you very much – and snarled a bit when Strife just had to make jokes about it. At least Azrael had recovered from the shock…  
“This won’t get you into trouble, will it?” War sat on their bed, watching the angel clean his wings. “With the White City and all that?” After all, this bout of lovemaking had been preceded by a talk about the Codex Bellum and its’ many problems.  
“I…” The scholar sighed, stopping the careful tending of one of his elongated primary-feathers. “I… I don’t know.” Taking a shuddering breath, he met his lover’s eyes in the mirror. “On one hand, I did kick all the rules about appropriate interaction with my feel, but on the other, they will now fear antagonizing me…” His hand settled on his stomach. It would be months ere it would be visible. “I don’t know what they would do.” He blinked in surprise when a scroll suddenly manifested in front of him.  
“It has not been a year yet…” The Rider got up, crossing the distance between them as his lover stared at the scroll like it was Samael. “Why would they send you a message now?” Had Heaven found out somehow?  
Once more trembling, the scholar reached for the neatly bound scroll and opened it. Reading it, he relaxed some. “It’s about Uriel…” He whispered in relief. “They know she and I had some interaction before… the Endwar and they want my opinion about her ‘distraction’ due to her infatuation. They forgot to ask me this when I was there.”   
“Oh.” Tilting his head, the thought flitted through War’s mind that he should really learn angelic script at some point in his life. “When?”  
“Her hearing is in just a little less than two months.” Laying the scroll aside, the angel rubbed his stomach again. “At least I won’t be showing by then.”  
“How long until…?” The Horseman found his eyes invariably drawn to the smooth expanse of the other’s middle. To think there was new life in there now…  
“Nine months until birth…” The mystic bit his lip. “Oh Creator, I am not looking forward to that part of it all…”  
Watching him get up, another – certainly a touch more random thought – came to the blue-eyed male. “How… is it going to get out anyway?” He remembered Azrael after a too big cock all too well. A child would tear the slender angel apart!  
“Roughly a day beforehand a birth-channel will form.” Azrael made a face in distaste. “It’ll heal up afterwards again, only to reform should I ever... end up pregnant again.”  
War had the feeling he also would not enjoy that part of it all…


	24. Chapter 24

War looked over at the angel. “You have been staring at that for half an hour at the least.” He flinched a bit at the look on the other’s face when he turned to look at him.  
“Sorry.” Azrael reached over to cancel the enchantment on the mirror. “I guess this is just a bit… surreal to me.” Both of his hands covering his stomach, he sat down on the bed. “After eons of sleeping with various people, I hit jackpot just two years into a relationship with you…”  
“Be glad it was not the very first time we slept together.” Wrapping his arm around his lover, the Rider pressed a kiss to the Mark. “How would that have gone, I wonder?”  
The scholar snorted at that, leaning into his touch. “I’d rather not think about that.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Aaawwww, but it was fun!” Andras was hanging on War. “C’mon!”  
“Get of me.” The Nephilim pulled Chaoseater and pretended to take aim at the Fallen. “Now.”  
“Spoilsport.” The black-haired male fluttered away like an insulted pigeon.   
“Sometimes I wonder why I keep him around.” Caim dryly spoke as he watched the other male touch down a good distance away, immediately draping himself over Azrael instead. “Whatever did you do with him that one time? He’s even worse than usual.”  
“Something horribly wrong, would be my guess.” War rolled his eyes. “At any rate, any questions?”  
“How are we going to make sure that we don’t get killed?” A female voice demanded from a short distance away. “We’re just Fallen, remember?”  
Kunopegos frowned at her employer, her long-sword still resting on her back.  
“Working on it, but someone needs to keep things going smoothly before that still.” The white-haired male assured her. “Besides, you can always flee here should things go bad.”  
The dread-locked female snorted, but said nothing in answer.  
“I suppose waiting won’t make it easier or anything like that.” The long-winged Fallen muttered. “Company, we move! Andras, get of the Archangel, will you?”  
“Spoilsport…” The other Fallen obediently let go and flew over. “Why is everyone so upset when I get affectionate?”  
“Don’t ask.” Caim countered, pulling open a portal for them to leave. “We will be back soon, I hope.”  
Azrael rejoined War when they were gone. “Is he always like this?”  
“Sadly.” The two of them were alone on the island now. “Want to stay a bit?”  
“I’d like that.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Returning to the White City while pregnant was stressful, but the fact that he was only two months meant that it was not yet visible. Thank the Creator…  
Metatron awaited him with a quartet of guards at the gates.  
“So much for coming by only annually, no?” The elder angel led the way to the Council Dome near the Argent Spire. “What did the Horsemen say of this?”  
“Eh, not much.” Azrael flew beside him, the four guards surrounding him. “How did you forget to tell me though? Surely this must have been brewing for some time.”  
“Along with the fact that they did not decide to bring you in for quite a while?” The four-winged male shrugged. “Honestly, this entire thing is a farce. Considering hardly anyone even noticed her crush before that Endwar, how could it have affected her performance…?”  
They touched down just outside the dome, walking inside. Azrael moved a few steps ahead of the other male when the corridor narrowed and their large wings would not fit side by side. As he did so, he failed to notice the golden glow coming from the other’s eyes.  
“Do you mind staying here for a moment?” The ivory-clad male softly asked when they reached their seats. “I need to speak to your parents for a moment.”  
“I’ll stay here.” The smaller male smoothed his dark-red robes before sitting as the other flew across the open space. Almost perfectly across from him was the female with feathers on her clothes and another tall male in armor. Unlike the other two, he only had two wings and was wearing pure-silver, segmented armor.  
It seemed that whatever they had to discuss, it only took a few sentences each and soon Metatron touched down beside his nephew again, taking his own seat.


	25. Chapter 25

In the end, it still took hours until Azrael was able to leave again. Metatron and the four guards escorted him back to the gateway into the City, where he and his uncle said their farewells.  
“I will tell you on your next visit how it went.” The four-winged male assured him, white eyes shining with affection. “Be well, nephew.”  
“I’ll keep you to that.” With some faint amusement, Azrael allowed the other to hug him tightly. “Be well, uncle.”  
The mystic opened a gateway to reach the realm of the Horsemen, entering it without looking back even once. Had he, he might have seen his parents watching him from a distant battlement.  
He passed through the white void with easy, wings beating non-existent air to propel him forward.  
What happened next however, was like a train-wreck: the only warning the angel got that anything was amiss was a flash of red, before something hit him like a mountain. For the first time in… a really long time, Azrael spiraled out of control, plummeting to a realm that was most certainly not his destination.  
He hit the ground hard, bouncing once before coming to a stop. The stench that greeted him was like a second mountain and he noticed in disgust that his clothes, hair and even wings were drenched in a collection of fluids he’d rather not name.  
His mind was working overdrive. Who had the raw power needed to redirect his path between the realms!?  
Instincts he did not know he possessed kicked in when something moved underneath him, breaking through the uneven ground. A split second it took him to recognize the thing… A split second was all it took for it to grab him.  
He grunted in pain when his wings were crushed between him and the black form. Arms locked around him, pulling the angel tightly against the gem between them. Green lights started to shine from it, fueled by the energies the gem drained.  
“Li… Lilith…” The Archangel struggled to stay awake, thanking the Creator that his reserves were substantial enough that he was not knocked out. On the opposite side of the room was indeed the Mother of Demons, arms crossed as she regarded her handiwork. He took some pleasure in seeing that she had not come through the Endwar unscathed: a body that would once have driven even angels to sin was now littered in scars and mutilations.  
“Azrael.” Now that he was no longer a threat, she moved forward, trailing her hand over his twitching body. “How nice of you to drop by.” She snorted lightly as sharp nails drew patterns on his chest. “And thank you for your assistance: I do so require the life-magics of an angel.”  
“Lover’s… spat?” He looked her over once, straining against the arms holding him immobile.   
“Courtesy of Death.” The demoness looked at him, her hand now cupping his cheek. Hanging around her neck was another gem, twin to the one that was being pressed painfully into Azrael’s back. Already some of the smaller scars were starting to fade under influence of the angelic energies emanating from the green crystal. “How well will he look when you get lost on his watch?”  
“Is this… revenge?” He simply did not have the energy left to cast a spell, Azrael noted in worry. He was truly trapped, just like in the Black Throne. His heart began beating faster as he thought back to that time. He just hoped that this time it would not last a century until he was freed.  
“A bit.” She leaned on him, pressing her still quite shapely body against his. “You will make a fine gift to my husband when I am done with you.”  
White eyes widened at that.   
“But first… surely you and I can come to some pleasurable agreement.” One of her hands absentmindedly stroked her chest while the other started to open his drenched robes.  
Azrael’s heart sped up even more in terror. He could not defend himself and it was entirely doubtful that War would appear within the next few minutes.  
But then… she stopped. A chuckle escaped her and her fingers drove themselves into the only bared skin she had uncovered: the neck, where War’s Mark proudly dominated the left side. “But I see you are already taken…” Blood welled forth from where her nails broke his skin. “I did not take you for someone with demonic tastes… Who is it? Fury?” Before he could even consider answering her, she answered herself. “No…” Her hand closed in the drenched fabric of his ropes. It was still visibly red. “Not Fury… War.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
He had had no defense when she forced entry into his mind, pushing aside what feeble defenses he managed to erect with little effort. His last conscious thought was a prayer of gratitude to the Creator that she was solely focused on this new relationship and not at all in say… the defenses of the White City.  
With that in mind, the mystic fainted from the strain on his mind. In a different realm, despite the Mark connecting them, his lover felt nothing of this. After all, a Nephilim-Mark reached across boundaries of realms for one reason only: a Challenge. And War’s claim on Azrael was not being challenged… yet.


	26. Chapter 26

She considered the angel in front of her. His energies had healed her easily, but now she was left with an unconscious lover to War in her grasp. A lover who so happened to be one of the Archangels of Heaven…  
Sharp nails trailed over the bite on his neck. A surprise for certain... Lilith would not have thought the winged male would agree to such a barbaric thing. Now what to do with him?  
Her green eyes narrowed a touch as she went over the memories she had seen in his mind. War did not know what had happened during the night when they first had lain together… Now there was a thought.  
Lifting Azrael’s head, the demoness licked her lips. Now to bring War here… That thrice-cursed Death’s oh so precious baby-brother… Her teeth were sharper than War’s, but even they did not manage to pierce the skin. Instead, they strained against an unseen force as the Nephilim resisted their attempt to lay claim to what was his. His furious roar echoed in her head.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
The Horseman was seeing red with rage. He had been expecting Azrael to return at any moment, only to feel someone try to the Mark the other male. Snarling, he had left at once, wondering who would have dared to do so.  
Following the Challenge, he found himself in Hell in front of a putrid growth on the stone floor of the realm. “Lilith…”  
What guards there were, were slaughtered almost like an afterthought. Nothing slowed him down and even the construction itself was not safe: if a door did not open fast enough, it was ripped apart.  
“Azrael…” The sight of the energy-drained angel finally calmed his blind rage some. He felt nothing from the other male, only barely able to tell his presence. Tenderly he removed some of the drenched hair, looking at the contraption that held his mate prisoner. Death had told him of these… and he did not like the other’s explanation of how he had dealt with them.  
“Lilith…” The demoness was standing at the other side of the room, arms crossed. “What is the meaning of this?”  
“I lost the graces of the Dark Prince, so now I am getting into Heaven’s.” She countered, gesturing to the bound angel. “Saving their precious mystic will do that.”  
“This is not saving him.” Pulling his sword he pointed at her. “Release him.”  
“Or what? Will you kill me?” She seemed unperturbed. “I cannot release him when I am dead, you know.”  
“I can make you.” The Horseman rounded his mate. “Release him now, Lilith.”  
“I will not release him to further torment.” The Mother of Demons countered as he approached. “Certainly not by the likes of you.”   
“The only torment he is in is by you.” Only the width of Chaoseater remained between them, the blade pushing against War’s armour and Lilith’s flesh. And still the female smiled coyly at the Nephilim.  
“Speaks the one who has enslaved his mind.” She lifted her hand, gesturing to the bound male in the room. Azrael groaned as her energies took hold, but before War could end her for this, the angel relaxed again. Something green flew to her hand from his head. “See for yourself how he sees this relationship of yours.” Her hand held the green light, lifting it to War’s head.   
Doubt formed in the Rider’s mind. He had never known what had happened in their first night. And despite Azrael’s assurances, there had always been doubt about how the scholar could have remained willing even with the pain the warrior had to have caused him. But surely the angel would not lie to such an extend?  
Unbidden, his mind flashed back to the Black Throne. He never would have expected Azrael to have a hand in the premature Endwar, but surely…  
Against his better reasoning by far, curiosity won it from trust and the Rider held out his hand for the memories Lilith had pulled from Azrael’s mind.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Azrael’s head hurt like Hell when he woke up. Groaning, the angel tried to ignore the throbbing. Curse Lilith for this… even worse was a pain in his neck, which he could not understand. Had she Marked him as well? She certainly had not slit his throat, that was for certain. He had it on good authority that the dead do not feel pain.  
Groaning again, he forced his eyes open. He was back in the Horsemen’s fortress!? Had War found out what happened and freed him? He looked around blearily until his eyes fell on the armoured form sitting on the desk-chair.  
“War…” He managed to push himself up the rest of the way, only to notice that the sky-blue eyes were cold as ice.  
“You lied to me.” Holding Chaoseater in one hand, the Nephilim got up from his seat to walk over to the bed.


	27. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this is GRAPHIC AND NASTY. IF you read it, dun you DARE flame me!

War found himself in Azrael’s place as he watched the memory. Pressed down on the couch by himself, he heard the angel’s thoughts as if the slender male was standing beside him and whispering them directly in his ears.   
He gasped, trembling under War's lips. War felt dizzy and muddled, as if time moved in an extreme slow pace. It was too warm, too hot, too confined!  
He tried to push the Horseman away to get a chance to clear his head, but due to his drunken state, it ended up more seeming like a caress over the broad shoulders.   
“No.” Azrael’s hoarse voice could be heard as War moved his lips from the neck down to the shoulders. "This is not what I want," War heard Arzael's thoughts crying in desperation, "not this". After kissing the skin a few times, he bared his sharp teeth and sank his canines deep into the flesh. The Horseman's hands held down the scholar, trapping him and rendering him absolutely immobile.  
War's mouth opened in a silent scream at the blinding pain and he bucked in agony against himself; desperate to free himself from . No, no... He had known that he had been too rough, but it could not have been like this!  
Growling, War started to tear off the rest of his clothing. “No... he wouldn’t...” War opened his mouth in an attempt to stop the other, but it seemed War merely took it as an invitation. Driving his tongue with force in War’s mouth, he could taste the angel’s blood still. “War...” It sounded too pitifull, especially coming from the powerful Mystic.   
War turned to his own clothes, letting go of the body beneath him. Slowly, as if trying to remain unnoticed, War turned to crawl away. “Not like this... Creator, not like this.”  
Grasping a hip with the golem hand, War stroked the exposed spine with the other, trailing down to up, sliding to one of the wings. War froze, the steel freezing against his hot flesh. He shuddered briefly when another trailed up his spine, only to grow afraid when it headed for his wing. He whimpered softly. Was this what happened!? He gasped at the stroking of his wing, arching his back in unwanted pleasure. What little pleasure he felt was soon replaced with fear once again when he felt the head of the other's member against his anus. “No.” The thought was a mere pitiful whimper. He gasped in fresh pain, worse than anything he had felt before when War entered him. The touches on his neck and wing did little to drown out the agony of the dry entrance of the Horseman's substantial member. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he clung to the couch he was on. Once he was fully inside, he slowly started to move. While still touching the wing and neck, War grunted in primal pleasure.  
War felt nothing of the sort, only maddening pain. He bit down on his own arm to keep from crying out. He hadn’t even noticed that back when it had happened. Tears kept on flowing from the corners of his eyes and again his mouth was filled with the tangible taste of blood.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
What followed were snippets of other memories. Impressions and thoughts the angel had had since that particular night.  
“Does he truly expect me to love him? He raped me!” That thought came by as the angel for the first time, spoke those three words out loud that War had come to adore hearing: I love you.  
“At least I am selling my body well.” The thought flitted through the scholar’s head as War took him on a quiet evening in their tower.  
“He truly does not suspect a thing...” Azrael was carressing a sleeping War’s hair. “Even after the Council themselves betrayed him he does not consider that someone could deceive him.” The slender hands stopped. “Pityful... and yet, how pityful am I that I raise my ass for his enjoyment?”   
Just before War awoken from the memory, he could hear Azrael’s last thought: "I shall bear this role of a whore as my punishment for the destruction of the Third Kingdom."


	28. Chapter 27

"I…" Azrael flinched a bit at that look. "I don't know what you are talking about…" He froze when the hellish blade suddenly was in front of his face.  
"Our first time having sex…" The Rider stated coldly. "Our entire relationship."  
"What…?" The Archangel backed away a bit, wide eyes flitting between War and Chaoseater.  
"You were not willing." War softly told the other. "Nor were you all the other times we laid together."  
"Of course I was!" Azrael exclaimed. "What makes you think I was not?"  
"I saw your memories." The scholar paling was all the answer War needed. He had not been willing after all. "I just wonder how I could have missed it." He moved closer again, blade-tip pressing against Azrael's bare chest. "Convenient that my attraction to you was revealed just as it would best serve you, was it not?"  
"I…" The angel trembled, but dared not move.  
"So very convenient that it was your jailor who fell for you so long ago, no?" War shook his head lightly. "I was such a fool for believing it. It was too good to be true, after all: the... person I loved loved me back, desired me despite everything and seemed to fit perfectly with me. You knew I would never use any magics that could reveal what I did that night. That I was too ashamed of the damage I had done to ever try and find out exactly how I had done it." He snarled lightly. "I ought to kill you for deceiving me like this."  
"I didn't mean to…" The mystic found his voice again, trembling increasing. "I didn't want…"  
"Oh, I am very certain you meant to." The warrior countered sharply, cutting the other's stammering off. "You always do what you mean to do."  
"Why!? Why would I want to do that!?" Azrael's voice started to get a panicky note. "I told you I would accept whatever punishment was deemed fit."  
"Even angels lie and deceive, Azrael. I presume this chance at leniency was too tempting for you to resist… if you resisted at all. What is lifting your ass once or twice a week against all the freedom it earned you after all?" War roughly pulled him up, snarling in his face. "I do not appreciate being used as a means to an end."  
"What makes you even think I would do that!?" The angel choked, trying to free his arm from the iron grip the Nephilim had on it. "Do you have such a low opinion of me?"  
"I had a high opinion of you." The Rider rested Chaoseater against the angel's neck. "But then you broke the seals and started the Endwar early… and did this. How can anyone have a high opinion of you after that?"  
Shaking his head, the Archangel fell silent, his eyes wide with fear.  
"You will live…" War threw him back on the bed. "Because you carry my child. But you will not leave this tower… for anything."  
"War…" Holding his aching arm, Azrael moved forward, only to fall back with an outcry of pain at the thin line appearing on his chest. Blood welled forth, running down his heaving chest. Chaoseater's tip was red with angelic blood.  
"I will make my final judgement after it is born." Chaoseater returned to its' place on the Rider's back.  
With one hand now pressed against the stinging wound on his chest, Azrael clambered to his feet. "Wait, please…" He cried out in pain when War's hand connected to his jaw. Head spinning with the force of the hit he fell to the ground, barely catching himself from falling right on his stomach.  
By the time he pushed himself up the door had already closed behind the Rider. "No…" His hand trembled as he reached for it. "I didn't… didn't mean to…" Clawing at the locked wood, he collapsed against the wall. "I didn't want to lie…" Choking back sobs, he sank to the ground, curling around his aching heart. "War…" Crying now, he pressed his hand to his mouth. "I'm sorry…"  
Using one wing to cover himself, the Archangel cried. How had it come to this?  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Hours later, the door opened and someone entered the room. Azrael found that he had no more strength left to care or even lift his wing to look at them. He had cried until he had run out of tears and was now still curled up on the ground, covered by his wing and his arms wrapped around his stomach. The wound on his chest had stopped bleeding – it had been shallow after all – but the spot where War had hit him was swollen and throbbing. It had been a small mercy of the Horseman to hold back just enough not to break the jaw.  
"War told us what you did." A male voice coolly stated, a hint of disapproval in it. The door closed behind him and was locked again. "That you deceived him and probably even impregnated yourself to bind him to you even stronger." Heavy boots walked up to the angel. "He is furious."


	29. Chapter 28

Strife sighed lightly as he sank through his knees beside the angel. “Will you look at me, Azrael?”  
“Leave me.” With a monumental effort the Archangel moved the slender wing covering him, looking up at the Nephilim. “Kill me.”  
“I don’t think that will do any good.” Carefully the Gunner pulled the scholar up, half-dragging him to the bed. “War does not know I am here. He’s out to vent his fury.”  
“He would not care regardless.” Azrael’s eyes were hollow as he was planted on the bedside. “I am but a whore to him…” A choked sound escaped him. “He…”  
“Ssshhh…” The second-eldest surviving Nephilim shushed him, before briefly leaving the room and returning with some water and healing-herbs. “What happened?” He demanded while cleaning the cut and applying healing-herbs to the swollen jaw.  
“Lilith captured me. Then I woke here with War having seen my memories…” The mystic flinched a bit. “I didn’t mean to…” New tears formed in his eyes. Where was he finding them?  
“She tried to Mark you, according to War. When he arrived, she showed him memories she had freshly pulled from your mind.” Strife rose from the bed to find a tunic or something like that. “He brought you back after that.”  
“So I would bear him this child before he kills me.” Azrael shuddered, resting a hand on his stomach. “Like… like some brood-mother.” This was what he had been reduced to: his life ebbing away as another grew inside him. “Is this my fate now?”  
“War is entirely unreasonable right now. Believe me, I tried.” The black-haired male sat down beside him, hesitantly resting his hand over the pregnant belly as well. Worry filled his mind as he saw the look in the ivory eyes.  
“No.” Azrael’s hands became fists. “I will not give him that.”  
“Azrael?” Strife blinked, carefully forcing the other to look him in the eyes.   
“I will not give him this child.” Trembling again, the white-haired male stumbled to the nearest window. Leaning on the windowsill, he looked up at the sky where a pair of the planet’s prime hunters were cruising through the sky. “If he thinks so badly of me… What will he think of my child? What will he do to it?”  
“You are not seriously considering killing it or something, are you?” The sleek armor moved smoothly as the other male joined him at the window. “Azrael…”  
“Of course not.” The angel shook his head. “No… you will take it.” And before any argument was forthcoming, he continued. “I will die, one way or another… and when that happens, you will take it at the first opportunity and bring it to Heaven.”  
“Steal my brother’s child from him?” The White Rider demanded in disbelief. “I might be named ‘strife’ but that is beyond even me.”  
“Then could you assure me he’d treat it well?” The Gatekeeper blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears from coming again. “You know what happened that night… If he declares me a deceiver and whore over that… what will he declare my child?”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Fury had followed War to ensure he would not bite off more than he could chew. Despite her intentions, the Red Rider had headed straight back to Lilith’s domain. His rage at her ruining his dream would not allow him any other course of action.  
She walked slowly through the ravaged corridor. Gouges denoted where Chaoseater had bit into the fleshy wall. On occasion, she would have to step over a destroyed demon who had been foolish enough to attempt to stop the enraged Nephilim.  
Mad laughter echoed through the pulsating passageways. They had started quite a while ago: roughly at the time of War reaching the Mad Queen. He was truly tangling with her now.  
The female Rider kicked aside another foolish pet of the Mother of Demons. Sighing a bit, she thought back to what War had informed his siblings of just a few hours ago. Azrael had deceived them all, using the youngest Nephilim’s attraction for his own gain. Quite frankly, the only reason the angel had lived to the end of that conversation had been War’s insistence that he would not condone his child to be harmed, regardless of what the ‘mother’ had done. Closing her eyes briefly – it wasn’t like there was anything left that could be a threat – she snarled a bit. How could an angel have fallen this far? How could Azrael have fallen like this, premature Endwar or not?  
Death had left shortly before she and War did, leaving only Strife in the fortress. She just hoped the Gunner would not do something rash. Then again, he had shown no reaction when War revealed what he had learned… The laughter had long stopped by now.  
The door to Lilith’s throne-room was ripped open at the hinges.  
“War?” Fury entered hesitantly, one hand on the handle of her whip. Blood mixed with the putrid excretions of the walls, the room having been ravaged. Her younger brother stood in the middle of it all, Chaoseater rammed in the backrest of Lilith’s overturned throne.  
Of Lilith herself, only small parts remained.  
War was wobbling on his feet, collapsing after just a short while. As he looked at Fury, she realized that it had not been only Lilith laughing madly just now. He looked broken like she had never seen any of her siblings before. His hopes and dreams were crushed into tiny pieces.


	30. Chapter 29

“No, I will not do that.” Strife sighed, looking up at the cruising beasts above the protective shield formed over the fortress.  
“You…”  
“I will raise the child myself.” The Nephilim looked at the lover of his younger brother. Well, former lover. “I will be its’ father. While I understand you not wishing War to have it, I cannot condone you just handing off what is my blood as well.”  
“And you think he’ll let you?” Azrael forcefully turned away from the window, marching back to the bed. When he chuckled, it was broken and dry. “As if.”  
“He’ll have to if I claim the child before he can.” The White Rider looked at him, leaning on the windowsill. “It is not only our mates Nephilim claim. But before you say anything, no we don’t bite babies, thank you very much.” He smiled in relief when that got a true chuckle out of Azrael. “The one that has Marked the mother upon birth is the father, regardless of who planted the seed.”  
“You intend to Mark me?” The angel looked at him. “Are you so certain that your siblings will not accuse me of having deceived you as I did War?”  
“I was there that night, Azrael.” The Gunner sharply stated. “And War did not see me.”  
“What?” The scholar froze, paling at the realization. “He did not see my memories?”  
“Some of it was yours, but not all.” The Gunner sighed. “I tried to tell him Lilith tricked him, but he would not heed me. I guess my poor reputation with my siblings is now rather troublesome.”  
“He… he judged me over that demon-whore’s trickery?” Azrael demanded in horror. “Creator, why?”  
“Who knows.” Strife rolled his eyes. “Do you consent?”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Why here?” The angel looked at the Nephilim, before looking around them. The Rider had taken him from the fortress, despite War forbidding just that. “Why not in my tower, where War will have nothing to complain?”  
Strife led him to the waterside. The news that War had been deceived into casting Azrael aside had hurt the angel deeply. The lack of trust had delivered a worse wound than the imminent death.  
At first, the Gunner had been content to first wait for the Mark of the youngest Horseman to fade, but at this rate the scholar would not have made it to labor. And so he decided to use this opportunity as an attempt to fix the mess Lilith had wrought. Either War reacted to the Challenge of the older Rider, or all was lost.  
“Because I hope I can make your burden easier to bear.” He pushed the silver hair aside. “Replace old with new, for what time is left.”  
“Why bother?” Azrael pulled away, sitting down on a rock at the water’s edge, his robes been drenched by the waves. “I only have until this child is born, Strife, perhaps not even that if he intends to cut it from my body…”  
“Those are still some months best not spend withering away. It will serve no one, least of all your child.” The White Rider kneeled in front of the angel, gathering the slender hands in his. “Let me give you happiness, Azrael. For the sake of the child that depends on your wellbeing.”  
The angel snorted in disdain, pulling his hands free. “A child I wish had never been conceived…” A defeated sigh escaped him as he got up again, walking over to the soft grass a short distance away. Nimble hands opened his robes, dropping them to the ground with little ceremony. “Do as you will, Rider.” He only left his leggings on, lying down on the purple robes on his stomach, his wings spreading out beside him. “Even what you are rumored to do to your lovers shan’t hurt me.”  
Strife joined him slowly. “I have no intention of hurting you any more than necessary.”  
“I heard that before.” The scholar’s smooth hand reached for the Mark still on his neck. It was nearly faded by now, only a week or so left until the wound would have healed and the connection broken. “Look what that ended me with.”  
Closing his armoured hand around the one on the Mark, the Rider leaned down to kiss the exposed spine. “Don’t think of that now.”  
This was, of course, far easier said than done. Still, Azrael did not resist as the black-haired male sat down on his legs, showering his back with light kisses. He just staid where he was, staring blankly ahead of him.  
Closing his eyes briefly, the male on top of him took a deep breath to steel himself and gathered the slender wrists in his hands. Looking at the immobile angel beneath him, he wondered how War could have ever been so idiotic as to fall for Lilith’s scheme. Thrice-damned idiot.  
Swallowing one last time, he licked his teeth. They were sharper than War’s, but he knew for a fact that if the other Nephilim did not let him, they would not pierce the Mark. After one last kiss on the bare shoulder, he bit down.  
And encountered resistance…  
Azrael screamed in pain, bucking against the male holding him down. The slender wings beat the air and ground as his back arched against the armoured chest of Strife.  
After a short bit, the White Rider finally relented, sitting up slowly. “Hey, I am pretty certain I never indicated a liking for voyeurism.” Looking over his shoulder, one hand on the neck of the panting scholar beneath him, he stared flatly at his siblings. It seemed Fury and Death had followed War, which would make this somewhat easier. “So do you mind? I have an angel to claim as mine.” He sounded almost bored as his yellow eyes met the burning orange ones of War. The youngest Horseman was trembling in rage.


	31. Chapter 30

Azrael stared with wide eyes at the hate-filled face of War. Shivering underneath Strife, he turned away, looking at the ground in front of him.  
“So this is how you use the mercy I gave you?” The Red Rider snarled. “By trying the same thing with my brother.”  
“War…” Said brother got up now, gently shoving Azrael in a clear indication to stay down. “In case you missed it, I was taking him, not vice-versa.” Trembling, beside him the angel got up anyhow, kneeling on the robes still on the ground.  
“So did I. And look what it got us.” Anyone lesser would probably have backed away at the sight of War looming over them, Chaoseater clutched in one hand.  
“I do not see how Azrael is responsible for your fuck-ups.” Strife dryly countered, not even flinching at the snarling Nephilim. “Or how that should prevent me from claiming him, since you do no longer wish him.”  
“I think we can safely say War’s only fuck-up was trusting the angel.” Death calmly pointed out, getting between his two brothers to keep one from murdering the other. “A fuck-up you seem to be repeating.” His annoyance with the second-eldest Rider was clearly audible in his voice.  
“I indeed trust Azrael.” Strife allowed himself to be pushed back a bit, now standing so close to the cowering angel he could feel the other’s warmth through his leggings. “Because unlike War’s, his story actually makes sense.”  
“I saw his memories.” War reached by Death to get a hold on Strife’s scarf and drag the short-haired male forward. “How did he explain that away?”  
“He explained nothing.” The White Rider’s hand dropped to the only gun he was currently wearing. “He did not need to.” Pulling Redemption, the cool barrel pressed against War’s chin in the matter of moments. “Because unlike the lot of you, I apparently have some brain-cells left. And if you don’t let go if me right now, you won’t have any because I blew the rest out.” Ignoring the choked sound from behind him, Strife did not avert his yellow eyes from the burning orange ones that were his baby-brother’s. “How dare you, how fucking dare you to throw everything you ever wanted away over Lilith!?”  
“I wanted Azrael to love me, not to deceive me for... whatever he wanted to get out of it.” Surprisingly, the bulkier Horseman actually let go of his sibling. “I did not want some whore, thank you very much, I could have gotten those among the demons.”  
Snarling, said sibling had to resist the urge to shoot him after all. “See? And it’s this opinion that makes me want to claim Azrael. Because I have the feeling Heaven will not appreciate that stance on their precious First Mystic.”  
“This is not Heaven’s business.” Fury finally spoke up. “This is between War and Azrael. They have no right to impede our judgement.”  
“Oh sure...” Strife threw his eyes to the sky. “’Hey, sorry about that, but my siblings killed Azrael, here’s the kid. Yeah, it’s War’s, who totally dumped and condemned Azrael after he got pregnant. No, I did not agree with that. Wait, why are you gearing up for war!?’ They might not be able to impede our judgement, but do you honestly expect them to let that slide? This is bloody Azrael we’re talking about, not some random foot-soldier who was called up to refill the Hellguard-ranks.”  
“An Azrael who forfeited any chance for mercy when he decided it was in his best interest to deceive War.”  
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Strife shrugged lightly. “But if he did, he certainly wasn’t the only one. Our poor baby-brother is so gullible after all... Gullible enough to trust Lilith, because you know... You never once mentioned me in that memory you saw.” He sneered lightly. “And I quite clearly remember dragging you of Azrael at some point. Because unlike what you think, taking something big does not happen quietly.”  
“Something you’d know of.” Death sneered.   
“At least I do.” Strife muttered darkly. “Have you actually seen War? I think even Lilith could not take him unprepared. And you expect Azraei to take him quietly? Idiots, fools, the lot of you!” Wheeling around, the White Rider offered his hand to the angel. “You squander the peace we have wrought after the fall of the Charred Council over a petty demoness’ accusations.”  
“So the night was changed... what of the rest?” War demanded. “What of the times afterwards? How could he have done those things in love?”  
“What things?” Azrael took the offered hand, clutching it like a lifeline. “Giving myself to you? Bearing you a child?” His voice was choked with sobs. “How... how dare you imagine I’d do these things out of any other reason?” Breathing heavily, he pulled himself up. “How could you trust Lilith over me? Any of you!? Why was it Strife that could tell something was wrong in that story!?” Tears flowing down the olive-skinned cheeks, Azrael’s mystical energies formed around his wrists. “Why STRIFE!?” The blast was potent enough to send War flying quite a distance, crashing onto the ground in a heap.  
By the time he got his reeling head under control, the Red Rider saw Strife hold the furiously screaming angel by his arms, wrenching him away from the others. Screaming... and crying. Had he ever seen Azrael so vulnerable? He had... when the angel had admitted his love, when the angel had given himself to the Nephilim.  
Collapsing in Strife’s hold, Azrael whimpered softly. “Take me back... I beg you... take me back...”


	32. Chapter 31

War looked out of the window listlessly. He had moved back into his own rooms down in the main building, while Strife had taken up residence in the tower with Azrael. It had been almost a month since he had spoken to the angel. The mystic only left the rooms for eating, refusing to speak to any of the other Riders.  
Dull light-blue eyes looked up at the one illuminated window far above his head. He had fucked up spectacularly and as Strife had put it – Creator-damned Strife of all people– he had done so with the one thing he had wanted the most.   
He forced himself to look away, feeling pain building in his chest at the mere thought that the Gunner was now touching Azrael... using the angel. Among his siblings, the second-eldest’s tastes were well-known. Snarling, War wondered why he was torturing himself by still returning to the fortress on a weekly basis. The realization that the gentle, fragile angel was now Strife’s lover made his soul ache.  
Memories of the Nephilim-camp haunted his sleep whenever he heeded Death’s demands to stay a night: memories of screams well into the night, of bodies broken and bloody leaving the tent of Death’s first-raised in the morning. None of them had walked easily, many had been unable to use limbs – sometimes for days. He could not think of even one that had come by longer than a month. Lilith’s influence on the bed-habits of the short-haired brother had been apparent: he merely had pets, toys... nothing meaningful, nothing of care or Creator-forbid... of love.  
And now he spend every night with Azrael! War flinched again at the realization that this was probably why Azrael did not leave the tower: he was simply unable to move far enough. And his was his own damn fault.   
Clenching his fist so hard that the metal of his armour started creaking, the Red Rider resisted the urge to punch something. He wanted to punch Strife every time he saw the older Nephilim, but found that always when he was face to face with the yellow-eyed male, his strength faded into nothing.  
He had cast Azrael away and the other had merely picked the angel up. Which was another thing that tortured the youngest Nephilim: what if he had not? What if all four of them would have turned on Azrael and killed the angel after the child had been born!? Lilith’s foul plot would have been successful then. Well, it already was successful, even with Strife’s interference... War could tell that Death was eaten up by guilt at the fact that she had most likely done this in revenge for the Firstborn killing all the souls of the other Nephilim in sacrifice for War.   
Subconsciously he had started staring at the one light at the top of the tower again. There were forms up there, Azrael’s wings blocking the light briefly as the angel moved through the room. He could still move, at least.  
A few times he had tried to scale the long staircase up to the room to talk to his former lover, but whenever he stood in front of the door, War’s courage had failed him. Failed him! Creator, when had the last time been the aggressive Rider had been afraid? Of one angel, to booth. He had taken on the combined forces of the Hellguard and Hell itself on Earth not three years prior, but now he could not even face a single mystic...  
And it wasn’t like Strife let him forget that. Unlike his newest acquisition – considering the White Rider’s history of... partners, it would be madness to call anyone his lover – the older Nephilim left the tower daily, still riding out on missions Death gave them. But he returned each evening, only spending time in the presence of his siblings long enough to finish the food Azrael made before heading up the tower with the angel. Despite that, he found plenty of time to sneer at his youngest sibling, calling him a fool and pathetic, among other things.  
Worse of all, those things hurt in their truth. War had been all this things and still was some of them, for that matter. Sometimes he felt like he would just drown in pain...


	33. Chapter 32

Azrael hardly ever left the tower-room. He still cooked as it helped relax him somewhat, but whenever he was not in the kitchen, he stayed up there. Much to the consternation of Strife...  
“You are wasting away, Azrael.” The White Rider sharply stated. Despite starting to show a noticeable baby-bump, the angel had lost weight. Come the next time he had to visit the White City, there was no doubt Metatron – or whoever else he had to meet – would be able to tell the mystic was far from well.  
“Bearing a child puts strain on the carrier’s body...” Inwardly, the Nephilim winced. The smooth voice of the scholar had become flat and lifeless.  
“I have seen my share of pregnancies and none of them started off this bad.” Strife countered, gesturing to the entirety of the angel. “And I am very certain that your runes are not supposed to be gone as well.”  
“Male pregnancies are different from female ones.” Azrael rose from his seat on the bed, walking to the other side of the room. He tried to stop it, but as he passed the window, he could not help but briefly look down to where War’s rooms were located. Resolutely he turned away, muffling a broken sob in his fist.  
“Azrael, just talk to him.” The short-haired male marched over, forcefully turning the archangel to face him. “Yes, he fucked up spectacularly, but the both of you are just slowly dying right now.”  
“He wanted to kill me!” Snarling, the scholar pulled himself free, moving away from the warrior. “He would have killed me had you not interfered!”  
“And he has a guilt-complex the size of Samael’s ego over it.” Strife pulled the angel back. “I will not let you destroy my baby-brother, Azrael, not like this. Talk to him. You know how much he wants to make it up to you: you yourself told me how he’d come up here when I am gone.”  
“Only to leave without facing me.” Refusing to look the other in the eye, the mystic tried to free his arm from the powerful grip on it. “He hasn’t looked at me since that day on Earth.”  
“Because of guilt and fear.” The Nephilim’s strength, though far less than that of his youngest sibling, was still more than enough to keep the Archangel from getting free. “I will help you with the child, I promised you this, but not like this, Azrael. Give him another chance. Just one. And if he still fucks up, I will take his place.”  
“I can’t.” Trembling, white eyes finally looked at the burning yellow ones bearing down on them. “I can’t go through something like this again. I wanted him since Eden... I cannot keep losing him.”  
“And this is so much better?” A freezing aura filled the room, originating solely from Strife. “He has wanted you nearly equally long and he now knows how much it hurts to lose you. He will not let it happen again.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“He’s gone.” Strife announced a couple weeks later.  
“What?” Azrael, wearing only a lose robe since none of his pants fit anymore, looked up from the book he had been reading. It was the only one he read since the incident: the ancient tome War had given him as a first courting-gift.  
“War’s gone.” The Gunner stated more or less sharply. “In case you didn’t notice, he hasn’t been here for a good while now. Fury says he has taken a permanent residence on the Maker’s world, near something called the ‘Fjord’.”  
“So?” For weeks the angel had been trying to play it off, but the Nephilim always brought their conversations back to it: talking to War and attempting to restore their relationship.  
“You damn well know ‘so’.” The White Rider snarled. “How long will you drag this on, Azrael?”  
“I am dragging nothing on.” Azrael countered darkly. “There is nothing to drag on. We talked about this, Horseman: I will not talk to him. He can make the first step this time.”  
“He will never do that!” Yellow eyes burned in the dim gloom of the tower-chambers. “He – War, Rider of the Red Horse, youngest of the Horsemen – fled because he cannot face you! He is a coward, Azrael, because his formidable defences mean nothing against a hurt of the heart. Talk to him, damn you!”  
“No.” A stubborn streak surfaced in the Archangel’s character. “I have tried and will not risk more hurt to myself again.”  
“And so you let him suffer?” Frost formed on the windows, the cool air slowly turning frigid. “I will not stand for it.”


	34. Chapter 33

War was sitting on the rocky shore, idly skipping stones out onto the wide expanse of the water. He felt only faint amusement whenever one of the stones would impact against the far-away ruins. Behind him was a tent of Nephilim-make, the remnants of a cooking-fire in front of it. He missed Azrael’s cooking...  
Angry at his slip of thought, the next stone cracked the marble of the half-sunken walkway. He had to stop thinking about the angel. Though truth be told, how could he after everything that happened?  
He was startled when hearing someone appear behind him. Hooves ground the stones. “I will not come back, no matter what any of you say.” Refusing to acknowledge his sibling any further, he kept following the stones over the water’s surface with his eyes.  
Boots touched down on ground in answer. Well, it wasn’t Fury then: her heels sounded far different. Death, perhaps?  
Whoever it was, he sat down on the rocks beside him, idly picking up a stone as well. Casting it away, it skipped merely once before sinking to the bottom.  
“You’d think an eons-old scholar would know how to do this.” Soft and gentle, the voice was filled with a touch of self-admonishment. “Though, I suppose not all things can be learned from a book.”  
No... Whipping his head around so fast his hood fell back, War stared at the form beside him. Sitting neatly on one of the larger boulders, Azrael was studying a rock in his hand like it was not at all strange for him to be so close to the Rider.  
Vaguely, War registered the horse moving away. “You... Why...?”  
“I figured we ought to talk...” The scholar stated, throwing aside the rock. “About... everything.”  
“You made your opinion quite clear.” The Rider slumped lightly. “I am not so certain what can be talked about.”  
“How about... us?” Sighing, Azrael got up to sit down beside the Nephilim. “I carry your child: that is worth a talk or two.”  
“I figured Strife would have claimed it by now.” Blue eyes were invariably drawn to the slight bump visible through the angel’s robes.  
“And that is how we got here, is it not?” The Archangel sharply stated. “You keep assuming things, War, without even realizing how asinine they are. Save for this mess with the Endwar, was I not always trustworthy? Yet there you were, believing Lilith over me. Even now you do believe I’d just exchange beds upon a whim. I carry your child, Rider, yet you cannot help and see me merely as a common whore!?”  
Said Rider flinched in answer. “I... no... no, I would never do such.”  
“But you do. You believe so.” The long feathers rustled as the wings spread in anger. “I gave you everything, risked everything for our relationship and yet, what are you comparing me to? Merely some succubus! Why?”  
Looking away, War picked up some rock that seemed interesting. Anything was better than facing the angel. “Because... because that is all I ever knew... Even before becoming a Horseman, sex was just a tool of others to use me to get higher up. Why else would they turn tail if I tried to deepen it? And afterwards... Many tried to buy their lives, or Creator knows what, by offering their bodies... And perhaps I am merely not meant to have something as precious as you.” Fisting the stone, he sighed. “I am War... Nothing meaningful comes from War. Only death and destruction. There is no beauty in me and I was deluding myself to think there could be.”  
“But there is.” Azrael’s soft hands closed around War’s, guiding one of the large appendages to the angel’s stomach. “This is your child, War. This is something beautiful you made.” Sighing softly when feeling the armoured hand twitch, he continued. “I love you still, Rider, and perhaps it is wrong of me to do so... who can tell? But this is your child and my heart is still yours. I just... I am not certain if I can trust you again just yet... Losing you hurt, learning that you did it over Lilith’s words even more so.”  
Flinching again, War pulled his hand free. “And I’ll probably do it again. It is apparent that even Strife is a better mate than I would be.”  
“But I don’t want Strife.” Reaching out again, the angel’s hand brushed the Nephilim’s cheek. “I want the father of this child. I want you.”  
Hesitantly, the Red Rider reached up, closing his hand carefully around the one at his face. Eyes following the deep-red fabric – only now he realized how often the angel was wearing that colour these days – he looked at his former lover. “I’d... I would really want that.” The smile he received in answer was weak and watery, but at least it was there. One slender arm was wrapped around the angel’s middle, massive wings half-encasing his form. “If you’ll let me.”  
“Haven’t I been saying that the entire time now?” Azrael weakly chuckled, his lower jaw trembling lightly.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Though they did not move together again after the talk, Strife returning to his own rooms without saying a word, War and Azrael were at least on speaking-terms again. The Rider lavished the angel with gifts and during breakfast one morning, his siblings were happy to see the unmistakable signs of a Mark upon the Archangel’s slender neck.  
Down in Hell however, the Dark Prince raged over the death of his wife. Regardless of his actual feelings on Lilith, the fact remained that one Rider had slaughtered her and her followers just like that.


	35. Chapter 34 NSFW

“How are you doing?” War had returned from another foray and found Azrael sitting in the gazebo. At five months, the angel’s stomach was now starting to get quite round.  
“Well.” One hand was caressing the bulge underneath his robes while the other was holding a book. Putting the book aside, he got up to walk over to the Rider. “How did it go with you?”  
“Good, all things considered.” Carefully wrapping an arm around his lover, War rested his forehead on the angel’s. “And look what I got you.” Pulling his other arm from behind his back, he smiled lightly.  
“Oh, thank you.” Smiling widely, Azrael took the pillow. “It’s perfect.” He snuggled it close. It was made of red silk and embroidered with colourful flowers. “Where do you keep finding these?”  
“Places...” The Nephilim’s smile widened. “Even though I do not understand why you insist on getting several dozen pillows.”  
“You’ll see.” Azrael chuckled softly while pressing a gentle kiss on War’s cheek. “They are important.”  
“So you keep telling me.” War led his mate inside. “And yet, you refuse to tell me why.” He had managed to return early and so they had the entire fortress for themselves.  
“I’ll tell you when you finished collecting them for me.” The scholar carefully put down the most recent one on a pile of others in the corner of their tower-room. “I’d say you are about three-quarters there.”  
“War, slayer of millions... and collector of pillows.” The Horseman muttered while taking off his armour on the other side of the room.   
“Well, it’s either getting me these or dealing with a very grumpy me.” The angel assured him, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot beside him.  
Grinning, his lover lifted him up and sat down with the pregnant male on his lap. “I am getting you plenty, aren’t I?” He hesitated a bit before resting his hand on the swollen belly. “Only four more months.”  
“Indeed.” Azrael folded his hands over War’s. “We should start thinking of names.”  
“And you’re sure you want to ask me?” The Rider chuckled lightly, resting his head against the scholar’s. “I do not think you’d want him or her to be named like the Nephilim do... Nor do I, for that matter.”  
“True...” Feathers rustled when wings wrapped around the two of them. “Though perhaps... Grace if it’s a she? I think that would be acceptable for both our... people.”  
“And if it’s a he?” The warrior started caressing the skin stretched taut over his child.  
“Mmmh... Temperance?” The mystic suggested after some thinking. “There have been two angels already named that.”  
“I do not think that a Nephilim works with that name.” War snorted, smirking a bit at his mate’s miffed face.  
“Then you suggest something, why don’t you?” Azrael muttered with a pout, tugging on the long tresses of his child’s sire. “Honestly, some temperance would not go amiss with the lot of you.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Later that day after dinner, they were in bed together. The first time after the Lilith-debacle Azrael had invited him back into his bed, War had simply broken down. He was not even ashamed to admit it. But this was not the first time.  
Breathing heavily, the Rider moved slowly inside his lover. He felt the long wings twitched under his body. The hand in his tightened as Azrael moaned. “My angel.” The Nephilim pressed gentle kisses to the fresh Mark in front of his face. He grinned when feeling the leg in his golem-hand twitch in response. “I’m not letting you get away again.”  
Trembling, the angel looked at the hulk looming over him. With his wings trapped under War’s body and one leg lifted up high in an almost crushing grip, even if he had wanted to he couldn’t have gotten away. Another draw-out moan escaped his lips. Panting, he used his only free limb to pull the smirking face down to his own. “Do shut up and move.” It felt like it had been hours since they started and the Rider’s slow pace was simply utter torment.  
“I am.” The warrior grinned, angling his thrusts.  
“Faster.” The scholar almost snarled, sweat running down his body. “You shan’t break me that easily, nor the child... Now move!”  
“As you wish.” Shifting his lover, the Horseman picked up the pace. “Mine. Both of you are mine.”  
“Yes...” With a drawn-out sigh, Azrael twitched underneath his mate once before slumping into the mattress. He smiled when feeling – and hearing – War come as well. “And likewise.”  
Chuckling answered him, gentle kisses peppering his bare shoulder. “Always.” Untangling himself from the angel, War carefully climbed over him to lie face to face. A pleasant tingle ran down his spine when Azrael used his magics to clean them both.


	36. Chapter 35

War carefully shifted a touch, hoping that it wouldn’t wake Azrael up. The angel had taken to sleeping poorly as their child had decided at some point that the middle of the night was a lovely time to practice punching and kicking. Something it apparently did not do when its’ sire was nearby. And so the scholar had nodded off as the two of them were cuddling on the couch, head resting on his mate’s shoulder.  
Smiling lightly, the Rider hesitantly rested his bare hand on the swollen stomach, pulling it back quickly when the sleeping form mumbled something. Soon his lover quieted down again, snuggling closer to his chest and War dared rest his hand on the silk-covered bulge. Only to frown when feeling something shift.  
“Now be nice to your... mom.” He whispered in the direction of his child. It had been far too short since Azrael had fallen asleep.   
In answer, he felt a hard kick against his hand. Frowning, the Horseman looked at his lover who was predictably waking up.  
“Mmmhhh...” Slipping his hand into War’s, Azrael blinked blearily. “So much for catching up on sleep.”  
“Sorry.” The golem-hand carefully pushed some hair out of the sleepy face. “Seems our child has the need of sleep of Nephilim, rather than angels.”  
“That is apparent.” The angel chuckled lightly, leaning into the touch. “Just know if this persists, you’ll be the one to get up at night.”  
“Duly noted.” The Nephilim pressed a gentle kiss to his mate’s cheek.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Absentmindedly, Azrael reached for his tea. Surprisingly enough, this time all four Horsemen were at home during the day, lounging on the couches of the living-room. Well, except for one... Sipping on his steaming beverage, he looked at the Nephilim in whose lap he was sitting.  
War smiled gently at him, not stopping with his combing of the angel’s long feathers. “Enjoying yourself?”  
“Very much so.” Wrapping both his hands around his drink, he leaned his head on his mate’s shoulder. “I almost don’t want to get up to get a new book.”  
“I’d offer to do it, but regardless you still need to get up.”  
“So it seems.” Putting the tea back on the table, Azrael dragged himself up. He could certainly understand why his mother stopped getting pregnant after him. Even if everything was perfect otherwise, one was still carrying something the weight of several substantial books around on one’s stomach.  
Walking past the window, he blinked a couple times. “War... you did not mention that the Fallen were scheduled to arrive.”  
Death quickly joined him at the window. “You indeed forgot to mention you invited them over.”  
War got up slowly. “I didn’t know either, brother. Which of them are here?”  
“Nearly all of them, by the looks of it.” Azrael looked at his mate in worry while absentmindedly rubbing his stomach.  
Outside, Andras lost his fight with gravity and crashed to the ground. At least he had managed to get inside the protective wards... Half-kneeling, he panted in exhaustion. A soft dripping sound got his attention: one of his wings had been wounded, the black feathers hiding the blood. Well, that explained why it hurt so much.  
War and Death were the first out of the window, crashing to the ground a short distance from the cluster of Fallen.  
“You look horrible.” War looked them over, seeing no un-injured ones among them. “What happened!?”  
“We... we need your help...” Andras managed to get back to his feet, stumbling over to the Horsemen. “We were atta... Why are you bearing a chicklet!?” He had noticed Azrael touch down behind the two wingless males and the sight of the swollen stomach of the Archangel had briefly derailed his line of thought.  
“I believe now is not the moment.” Azrael slowly reached out, whispering various healing enchantments.  
Andras’ legs gave out when he remembered his predicament. Only a quick catch from War kept him from face-planting into the soil. “The bastards... attacked us. Said they wanted to bargain...”  
“Who?” Death demanded sharply, orange eyes narrowing behind his mask.  
“Demons...” Gremory spoke up as she stumbled forward. “They captured some... killed others... Caim told Andras and me to get as many as we could here.”  
“Which demons?” Fury had retrieved several of their healing-stones, using them on the more critically injured.  
“They... they had the crest of the Dark Citadel...” Andras trembled lightly. The Dark Citadel was Hell’s hub for their slave-trade and one of the Dark Prince’s most powerful strongholds.  
“The Slavers?” Death snarled. “Why would they want you? Last I checked, they prefer the pure stock.”  
“One of them... he said we’d be the best to... to breed Nephilim...” A young female, so young she had perhaps Fallen only shortly before the Endwar, whispered shyly while clutching her burned arm. “He... I saw them take the Commander.”  
Silence descended over the group at that statement. Even Azrael fell silent as he turned to look at the speaker.  
“You’re certain of that?” War demanded sharply. He growled in anger when she nodded... Only to realize that not all of that anger was his own. “Azrael...?” By the time he had turned, his lover was gone, leaving only a faint hint of a portal behind.


	37. Chapter 36

One and a half years ago, War had been on a scenic Earth-island. Back then, he had found that the Mark-bond had given him Azrael’s sensitivity for the mystical arts. He had wondered then what the angel would receive in turn.  
Now, had he been in the Dark Citadel, he would have known: Azrael floated above the city, wreathed in fire. But it were his eyes that would have made War realize...  
What should have been angelic white burned. It was not the orange of the Fallen and Eldest of the Nephilim, but just barely. An hour ago, his face had been a warm and loving smile. Now, it was a grimace of rage...  
The Rider would have known what change had come over the angelic scholar. The Mark-bond had given the – by Nephilim and Angel standards - pacifistic mystic the Horseman’s Wrath. It had given the Gatekeeper the ability to lose sight of all else in favour of single-minded focus on destroying what had incurred his anger. For one whose strength in the mystical arts was in part dictated by the strength of his emotions, it was a devastating ability to have.  
Come the end of it, he’d no doubt be horrified by his loss of control. But now, as he cast his mind outwards to find his target, he embraced it wholeheartedly.  
It did not take him long. Among the throng of demonic essences below him, those of the captured Fallen were like those of purest Archangels in comparison.  
Beneath his heart, the young life shifted. Of his blood and flesh, even at this tender age it could feel the mystical energies gathering in the air around them.  
Angel of Death. A title he had inherited from his father, who had seen the power his son would wield. A title he honoured with a massacre.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Half a dozen Fallen were being held in the same room, with one other being held behind a solid steel door.  
Kunopegos panted, wincing at the pain arcing through her leg. Abyss-damned demons had broken it twice, as far as she could tell. Opposite her, Azazel was holding Vapula as much as his chains would allow, gently caressing the unconscious female. Or at least, he had been.  
Something was happening outside, all of them could tell as much. The hustle and bustle of the city had changed.  
“It... it sounds like they’re being slaughtered.” One of the other males whispered, curling up as much as he could in the corner the demons had thrown him into.  
Well, Kunopegos had to agree with him there. Was it the Horsemen, come to save them? No, it sounded... too widespread for those. Even all four could not cause such a cacophony of sounds, not from so many directions. Was it just her, or were the sounds getting closer?  
The door leading out of the building was ripped of its’ hinges, though there was no hand holding it as it flew out of sight.  
“Creator...” It had been ripped free by a storm raging outside. Someone screamed when the turbulent air entered their building, buffeting them and the walls alike. Creator, let the walls give way first!  
Azazel tried to shield his wounded love, only to freeze in shock at what appeared in front of the door-opening. “Pretty wings...?” It was Andras’ nickname for the Archangel and had stuck with most of the Company.  
That was not the angel that had chuckled lightly at the nickname or had looked on with fond exasperation whenever War suffered under the friendly relations he had with the black-winged angels. That had to be someone more. And yet, the smith could tell he was wrong. It was the same male as back then that now almost absentmindedly blasted the front-wall of the building into the Abyss.  
The red-robed, burning Archangel passed the cowering Fallen without a mere glance, as if they were saved merely as a sidethought. Considering his treatment of the door seperating them from their Commander, that might well be a fitting conclusion.  
Magic-encased, the scholar’s fist dented the thick steel on the first hit. By the third, the door was only good for scrap-metal.  
For a moment, two pairs of orange eyes met. Then one trailed away, passing over wounds and bruises on olive skin. Outside, another wave of destruction passed through the city.  
Caim tried to get up, but collapsed immediately again. He wanted to talk, but the damage to his tongue was too painful...  
An angry scream echoed in the small room and blinding light burst free.  
Disoriented, he fell facefirst onto soft and short grass. What...?  
“Azrael!” A scream filled with worry made his head snap back up. His eyes widened at seeing the Archangel in front of him fall. Arms in sleek form-fitted armour wrapped around the white-winged angel, breaking his fall. War appeared few moments later, taking his lover from his elder brother.  
And that is when everything turned black for the long-winged Fallen. He was safe and the adrenaline and worry that had kept him going faded to be replaced by a blissful freedom of pain and discomfort.


	38. Chapter 37

Caim woke slowly to a soft blanket covering him. Where in Creation had he ended up that they had soft blankets!? It’s been eons since he had had a soft blanket.  
“Ah, he is waking up.” A voice penetrated the haze draped around his head. “Commander?” Opening his eyes, the long-winged Fallen came face to face with Strife. “Well, he woke up: can I now stop babysitting him?”  
“If you are so eager to be gone, at least make yourself useful and go to Hell.” Death’s answer came from the other side of the room.  
“Wha...?” By the time the prone male had dragged himself halfway up, the Rider was gone. “Where...?”  
“The Horsemen’s Fortress...” Kunopegos informed her superior. She was sitting in one of the armchairs, her twice-broken leg stretched out before her. Naamah and Gremory were sharing the only lounge the Fallen had not used to make a bed for their Commander, the Healer half-dozing on the other female in exhaustion after expending herself in an attempt to heal everyone. “It seems Lord Azrael had just enough energy left after flattening the city to get us all back here.”  
“Azrael...?” A pair of hands helped the elder angel to get up completely. Andras had been only lightly injured – in comparison to most of his company-members – and though flying would take some time, he could at least help.  
“Yup.” The warrior grinned a touch madly. “Teleported away from here and blasted the entire Dark Citadel into the Abyss.” He just barely did not rub his hands. “Oh, I wish I could have seen Pretty Wings go at it! That must have been epic!”  
“Andras...” Caim rubbed his head. It was far too early for him to deal with the other’s bloodlust.  
“I might agree with you, if not for the circumstances.” Fury dryly countered the male angel, offering the Commander a plate of food and drink. “Think you can eat by yourself?”  
Testing his tongue – thank the Creator Gremory had found to strength to fix that! – he nodded lightly. He’d manage... slowly. Looking around, he started frowning. “Where... is he...?”  
“In bed.” The female Nephilim stood up straight again. “Even for him, wrecking a city is not some cakewalk... not even considering he’s... you know.”  
“Know what?” Caim had to move slowly, otherwise the soup would end up everywhere.  
“Ya missed the baby-bump, Commander? Pretty Wings is seven months along, apparently.” Azazel snarkily demanded.   
A sudden cramp in his hand made him drop the spoon again. At least it was already empty...  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
War joined them shortly after Strife returned. All Four then more or less sequestered themselves in the kitchen, only coming out when hearing the Archangel enter the rooms. Azrael was wearing a thick fur-coat, but there was no hiding his protruding stomach.  
War immediately rushed the angel’s side, whispering softly. Then, seemingly placated, he shooed two of the least-injured Fallen from one of the armchairs, planting Azrael in it.  
“I can stand, you know.” The Archangel smiled lightly at his lover.  
Caim meanwhile looked the unFallen over. He had changed quite a bit.  
“Well, regardless, can you now explain to us what you were thinking?” Death also left the kitchen, his voice sharp and annoyed.  
“Our demon contacts told us that the demons are running around in such a panic that even the Dark Prince has trouble to control them.” Strife added, moving to lean against the wall.  
Andras snorted at this, feeling quite vindictive. Oh, he had not been happy when seeing the state his company-members were in.  
“Well, I was thinking how nice the city would look flat, so then there was a meteor-shower, an Earthquake and a couple tornado's...” Azrael dryly answered, taking War's hand absent-mindedly while the Rider stood beside his chair. “Why do you care that I saved you the bother of saving your Fallen?”  
“Sassy damn angels,” Death muttered darkly. “That wasn't too hard to conclude. What I mean is: why in Oblivion did you rush in to the city like that? Without telling us, without backup and...” He pointed at Azrael's swollen stomach. “you heavy with my Brother‘s child! You are supposed to be one of the wisest mystics that the White City has to offer. Your actions are not I would call wise. ”  
Andras looked with interest at the Archangel for answers while Caim seemed to only pay vague attention to the other long-winged male’s answer. It was not forthcoming, Azrael refusing to even look at the Eldest of the Nephilim.  
“I will not ask again.” Death almost snarled.  
“Me.” It was not Azrael’s voice that answered him, though it was surprisingly alike. “He went into the Dark Citadel over me.” Caim forced himself to his feet, waving Andras away in annoyance when the younger male wanted to help him.  
“I know we are allies, but that is no reason to...”  
“We knew each other before my Fall.” The Commander interrupted the Firstborn. “We were very close in fact. I... I thought it wouldn’t matter after all this time, but I apparently was wrong. Azrael always did lean more towards Metatron’s teachings, emotions included.” A faint smile appeared on the scholar’s face at that. “Honestly, I was a fool for assuming we’d be able to ignore that history...” The Fallen returned the faint smile.   
“Just... how close were you...?” War’s voice almost sounded hesitant as he looked between the two angels. “Were you... lovers?” It was clear that despite having a history of many lovers of his own, the Rider would not be so happy with Azrael having likewise. There was already a tinge of jealousy in his voice.  
In answer, both of them snorted. It was the pregnant male which answered. “Us lovers? Can you not see the resemblance, my love? He is my brother.”


	39. Chapter 38

“Your... brother?” War echoed, looking at his lover.  
“Did you think I popped out from a cloud fully grown?” Azrael chuckled lightly, caressing his stomach lightly. “This is the normal way, remember?”  
“Speaking of which...” Caim leaned forward lightly. “Do I want to know how that happened? Because it does not seem like you two actually married beforehand.”  
“The situation is not exactly the best to announce my relationship to a Rider.” Azrael sighed softly. “Too much has happened...”  
Caim’s eyes narrowed, but he was interrupted by Andras. “But Azrael doesn’t have a family!” That earned him a flat stare from both long-winged angels, making his next statement sound more like a squeak. “I mean... surely someone would mention that he had a family-member that Fell, right?”  
“I am old, Andras.” The black-haired brother stated softly. “Very old. I have no doubt I have been forgotten by all except for a few. There is the whole ‘Fallen are dead’-thing...”  
His sibling leaned a bit more against the white-haired Nephilim beside him at that statement.  
“So when did you Fall?” Death demanded, his face unmoved behind his mask.  
“At the battle that would create you.” The Fallen’s commander answered calmly. “I was cast from the legion after the battle whose flames would create the ashes that formed Absalom.” He chuckled lightly at the expressions of his followers. “What? I know I don’t look old...”  
“Not a day over ten thousand.” Azrael smiled a bit. “We have some catching up to do.”  
“In private though, I believe.” Death spoke up. “There is something we’d also like to discuss with you.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Quite the developments since I ‘died’.” The two angelic brothers sat together in the skeleton-gazebo, Azrael reclining against a small mound of pillows. Caim sat beside him, rubbing his still hurting arm.  
“Well, you were a corpse for eons.” The scholar stated with a weak chuckle.   
“How’s our uncle?”  
“As emotional as always.” Azrael mused softly. “I missed you.”  
“Still like him, then.” The older angel reached over, gently resting his hand on the swollen stomach. “Down to this.”  
“Indeed.” The white-winged male smiled. “Speaking of which... would you be its’ godfather?”  
“What...?” His brother retracted his hand like he had just gotten it burned. “I am a Fallen, Azrael. I doubt the White City would enjoy this.”  
“The father is War, remember?” The Archangel pulled the hand back. “And he stated he’s going to make Death the other one. Not to mention it’s best to keep this entire thing on the down-low anyway.”  
“I’d be honoured.” Caim snorted lightly. “Things do seem to have gotten interesting after the End War.” Guilt flashed across his face when seeing the other flinch. “I saw the tower a couple times, you know... I never realized you were in there.”  
“It’s not like you could have broken me out.” Azrael sighed, leaning back a bit more. “So, how is your line coming along?”  
“Don’t... even start that.” Caim rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You sound like our mother.”  
“I thought you were the one who did that?” The other male dryly pointed out.  
“You had build a book-fortress out of her rare books.” The Fallen stated. “The protective runes of several of those were aligned to the point that they were about to blow.”  
“Only ‘about to’.” The Archangel chuckled. “Besides, the other books were far too small for me to make anything bigger than a book-hut.”  
“I sincerely hope your kid is not like you.”  
“I am sure I had my upsides.”  
“I suppose your eyes whenever I gave you gifts were cute...” Snorting a bit, the elder mimicked big round eyes. “Well, in general you were adorable... What happened to you?”  
“A couple eons of time passed me by?”


	40. Chapter 39

The Fallen moved into one wing of the fortress since the Horsemen decided that until they could empower their servants, it was simply too dangerous for them to live on their own.  
By the time they had gotten settled, Azrael’s pregnancy was nearing its’ end. There had been some arguing between him and War over that. War – true to his Nephilim-nature – insisted on keeping the angel Marked throughout it, while the mystic preferred no bond between them.   
“How are you feeling?” The birth-channel had started forming a couple hours ago, leaving the slender male with agony in his lower body.   
“I am not looking forward to the rest.” Half-curled up on War’s lap, the angel shivered a bit. “It’s going to take hours...” He relaxed somewhat when the Rider started caressing him.  
“I have something against the pain.” Gremory entered the room, a goblet in her hand. “May I?” She rested her glowing hand on the scholar’s stomach. “It seems all is going well.”  
“Small mercies.” Azrael gratefully downed the cup she handed him. “How long, do you think?”  
“Couple hours until you can hold your child.” She smiled lightly. “I think we best move this to the healing-ward, the real fun will start soon.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Despite the sound-proof wards that had been layered over the healing-ward, War still flinched at even intervals. Having driven Chaoseater halfway into the floor – ignoring Death’s disapproving glare – he stared at the screaming faces edged into the metal. Azrael was probably looking like one of those now.  
He certainly regretted keeping the Mark going now. “Why is it taking so long?” He felt another wave of agony pass through his body.  
“Aside of the fact that an average angelic labour is about two hours of pushing for a first time...” Caim leaned against the wall nearby, seeming completely calm. “Our mother took forever to give birth both times... there’s a reason me and Azrael are her only children. I’d start worrying if he’s still at it in a couple hours.”  
“Who is your mother anyway?” Andras was proverbially fluttering around.  
“I think we made it clear we will not talk about that.” The long-winged Fallen darkly stated, glaring at the other male who flinched. “Do not ask again.”  
“Back to the subject-matter...” Death gestured to the door. “If he inherited your mother’s... speed, shall we say... How long is this going to take? I’d rather not War wreck the building.”  
“I’m not going to wreck the building.” War darkly stated, holding Chaoseater’s handle in a death-grip.  
“Mother was at it for six hours with Azrael, even longer with me.” Caim snorted lightly, looking to where his younger brother was. “I don’t think she ever quite forgave us for that.”  
“So like five hours more still?” Fury dryly demanded. “I think we need to get War out of here for now. If not the building, I think he will ruin Chaoseater at least.”  
“I have some control, you know?” The youngest Nephilim snarled.   
“You also have a really short fuse where Azrael’s well-being is concerned.” Strife spoke up from the corner he was sitting in. He was idly twirling Redemption around a finger. “Case in point... that time Lilith took him?”  
War snarled again. By group-agreement, they had decided to keep the details of that episode a secret, but Strife kept alluding to it. The second-eldest was enjoying the whole ‘I was right while you were not’-thing far too much. The worst part was that War knew that he couldn’t say anything about it, since he still sort of owed his brother for that one.   
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
In the end it was about four hours before Gremory came outside, a small smile on her face. “My Lord?”  
“How is he?” War left Chaoseater in the ground, only barely resisting the urge to rush over and push her aside.  
“They are well...” She moved aside, gesturing into the room.  
The Nephilim did not even bother thanking her or anything, simply moving inside. Several Fallen were in the room, surrounding a pillow mount shaped like a bird’s nest. Long white wings covered the top, sheltering the angel they belonged to. “Azrael?”  
One of them moved, shifting just enough to allow the warrior to see his mate’s exhausted face. The angel’s platinum hair was made in a messy braid, a few strands hanging free. A small smile graced his face when the Nephilim sat down beside him.  
“Are you well?” War gently brushed the free hair aside.  
Azrael nodded lightly, shifting his wing even more to reveal what he was holding in his arms. “Meet your daughter, War.”  
She was so tiny, it was kind of worrying. “She’s so tiny...” He moved to touch her, only to stop when realizing he was still in full armour. Roughly pulling his gauntlet off, he carefully brushed his finger against her cheek. “Is she supposed to be this tiny?”  
“She is actually quite big for angel-standards.” Azrael chuckled weakly. “No thanks to your side of the family.”  
“Oh.” She was so soft and squirming. “So... does she have wings?”  
“We’ll only be able to tell in a year.” The angel wrapped his free hand around War’s. “Do you want to hold her?”  
The Rider nearly recoiled. “No... no... Azrael, she’s so tiny, so frail... I’ll hurt her.”  
“Nonsense.” The archangel chuckled. “Your golem-hand is big enough to be a bed to her.”  
“You want me to hold her with that!?” He might have raised his voice, had he not been afraid to wake the little one.  
“Oh, just come here.” Kunopegos came over. “Hold your hand like this.” She draped a blanket over it, then gently lifted the babe onto it. “There, like that.”  
War’s hand twitched as he looked down on the baby... his child.


	41. Chapter 40

His fingers curled inward a bit, sheltering the small form. The movement had woken her and she was making soft sounds, small hands flailing through the air to catch something. Slowly, he reached out, allowing one of her tiny hands to touch his finger. Her grip was strong, that was for certain.  
“So small.” He looked at Azrael. “Are you sure...?”  
“You’ll do fine.” The angel chuckled weakly. “Go on, introduce her.”  
Carefully, the Nephilim stood up again, cradling her in his golem-hand. Walking outside, he finally looked away, eyes meeting those of his siblings outside. “Everyone... meet our daughter Grace.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Azrael moved back up the tower later that week, after a room had been prepared beneath his. Azazel had forged a crib for the young babe and Caim had offered Gremory as a nursemaid since for all their life-magic, male angels could under no circumstance actually breastfeed the children they bore.  
War adored the small babe, sometimes spending hours just entertaining her in one way or another, much to his siblings’ amusement. They accused him of becoming soft, something he’d normally have resented being accused of... But not this time.  
There was a certain relief in Azrael’s voice when he announced that Grace’s wings had started growing in. By that time, she was nearing her first birthday and wobbingly tried to follow her father everywhere. More than once, War would turn around to find a small girl poking her head around the corner.  
Around that same time, some other babies were born, several of the Fallen-couples ‘celebrating’ their new, secure home by procreating. Death was less amused at the prospect of even more children around.  
Once in a while, War would try to get dressed only to find that a little girl had snuggled into his hood. More than once, he in the end had to leave his customary hood at home as the child fiercely defended her claim. Azrael always thought it cute that the young half-blood adored her father so much.  
At this, War would point out that even more often, the scholar would lose possession of his fur-cloak, the young one using it as her napping-ground. The angel would always chuckle at that, reminding the Rider that the cloak was not an essential part of his daily outfit.   
At her first birthday, Grace’s wings had fully grown in, though they could not yet carry any kind of weight as their feathers were only small, downy ones, making the angelic appendages look like little clouds attached to her back. She loved spending time with the horses, even Despair warming up to the little one. Much to surprise of most of the Nephilim, Regret seemed to get on with her the best. More than once, she’d curl up on the white horse, using it as bed.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
By the time she was two, she had learned the basics of flying, though braking and turning were not high on the list of her capabilities. She had figured a way around that though: other people made for great landing-pads and thus she took to shooting headfirst towards the nearest adult she saw.  
Death was not amused at the prospect that the other children would probably do likewise. Caim pointed out that she probably had a familiarity with the Horsemen none of the other children would have and therefore would probably be the only one to do this.  
The eldest Rider came into the habit of having to shoo a small fluttery thing away from him. For some reason – and by the Creator, he did not know which – she adored him almost as much as she did her parents. She’d attach herself to him, being a small white ball of floof on his shoulder or alternatively, his head.  
Caim laughed the first time he saw that, informing the Firstborn she got that from her ‘mother’. Apparently their father used to wear fur back in the day and Azrael used to snuggle into that, regardless of whether the elder angel was wearing it or not.  
By the time she was four, most mannerisms she had were Azrael’s and most interests War’s. Fluttering through the fortress, playing with the other children, she was indistinguishable from her full-blooded peers.


	42. Chapter 41

“I see no harm in it.” Caim mused. “Considering all of them want to go, they will count her as one of them.”  
Grace – and several of the other children – had begged to see the White City at Azrael’s next ‘check-up’. War was less happy with this. “She has blue eyes.” The Rider pointed out. “Anyone giving a closer look will realize she is not a pure angel.”  
“They will however never even consider the notion that you’d have lain with me to conceive her.” Azrael answered, watching the children play with the horses outside. “Or rather, that I’d lay with you. And why should they care about a Horseman with a Fallen?”  
“True.” War nodded lightly. “They won’t try to harm them, though? Considering the stance of the City on Fallen…”  
“They do not judge the innocent.” The Fallen’s commander assured his brother-in-law. “At worst, they might try to take them, but if Metatron is anything like he used to be, he shan’t allow it.”  
“I’ll take Gremory to help keep them in check.” The scholar gestured to the lavender-clad female. “I think she might go over best still.”  
“Please do bring her back alive though.” The large-winged Fallen made a face. “Naamah would not appreciate losing her lover.”  
“I’ll try.” Azrael chuckled lightly.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“I’ll take that as a school-outing.” Metatron looked down on the children fluttering through one of the outer courtyards of the Ivory Citadel. “Those Fallen seem to have had quite the enjoyable time in that fortress of yours.”  
“The fortress is of the Horsemen.” Azrael quirked a small smile.  
“You know what I meant.” The older angel dryly countered. “How is it, living with Fallen?”  
“Interesting, at least.” The rune-winged male rolled his eyes. “They are not as bad as some of those other Fallen that have been warped by Hell’s energies, thank the Creator.”  
“Of course. I’d hardly dare claim otherwise.” The four-winged male turned away from the window. “Shall we make sure that the poor lady does not get overwhelmed by all those kids?”  
“I am sure she can handle them, but certainly.” The two males descended through the building to the door leading outside. “They are only six in total, after all.”  
“Not all children are like you were.” Metatron looked at the fluttering little ones, before glancing at Azrael. Several guards were hovering higher up, on edge because of the female’s blackened wings. “If I may remind you.”  
“I gave my parents plenty of headaches.” The mystic‘s eyes narrowed a touch at seeing several of the children flutter up to the guards.  
“Yes, that you did.” Briefly glancing around, the other male moved a touch closer. “She’s quite cute.”  
“Who?” Raising one eyebrow, Azrael stopped looking at the children fluttering overhead.  
“War’s child…” His uncle gestured up with his head. “I presume she is the one you conceived? The others are too young.”  
“What?” Now turning his head fully to the other male, War’s lover narrowed his eyes again.  
“You do remember who your mother is, do you not?” Crossing his arms, Metatron mirrored the other’s expression. “She felt your conception and I confirmed it back at Uriel’s trial.”  
The Gatekeeper’s face hardened and his muscles tensed. “I…”  
“No.” Raising his hand, Metatron halted his words. “Do not try to lie to me, nephew. I can feel your energies in her and the blue eyes… Who else could be her parents but you and the Rider?”  
The younger angel’s wings twitched at that. “Uncle…”  
“I will assume less than the worst…” The older angel stated calmly. “I assume you and I are still close enough you’d warn me if someone took advantage of you…”  
Neither however had noticed a scholar that had trailed after them, having needed his lordship’s assistance with something… and who had only heard the first part of the conversation. The very thought of the notorious youngest Horseman and a Lord of Heaven… Well, it certainly was not one any angel would want to entertain.


	43. Chapter 42

“Kids, time to go!” Gremory looked at the fluttering children spread over the courtyard. She was answered with various exclamations of sadness. The golden trees and safety of the air had been a welcome change of scenery for the young ones. “C’mon!”  
Azrael snorted in amusement, standing beside her and looking up. “Do you want me to reel them in?” He asked, laughing softly when the children vocally told him off and scattered in all directions.  
“The bane of children.” Metatron floated a few feet above the ground near them. “I take it those protective spells are not to keep the problems out, but the children in?”  
“Seems like that.” The Fallen’s wings were pressed tight against her back in her subconscious attempt to be as small as possible around the other Archangel.   
“Normally they just send some of the energy-loaded adults after them.” Azrael mused, sighing lightly. “How would your guards feel if I commandeered them for baby-catching? I fear their parents might get worried if we take too long getting back.”  
The ivory-clad male’s mouth-corner quirked at that, looking at the few guards still in the vicinity. “I am not sure, but I fear they might not forgive me.” He raised one arm, gesturing for several of them to fly after the kids. “At least they’ll sleep well tonight.”  
“The kids or the guards?” The Gatekeeper wondered dryly.   
“Both.” His uncle chuckled, watching the scene above them.  
“My lord.” Someone approached from the back, several pairs of flapping wings closing in.  
“Uriel.” Metatron touched down, eyes narrowing at the General of the Hellguard. “What brings you here?”  
“I was send here.” She bowed lightly at both Archangels, golden wings briefly twitching when noticing the Fallen nearby. Said Fallen had to resist the urge to hide behind Azrael at the various Champions that had followed the other female here.  
“Why?” The elder angel turned to her fully, arms crossing. “I do not recall any correspondence regarding this.”  
By now, various children were being herded towards them.  
“I have a letter from Lord Raphael here.” The armoured female offered a scroll to the one in charge of both Lostlight and the Ivory Citadel. He took it, breaking the seal to read it.  
“Trouble?” Azrael asked when seeing the other male’s gaze darkening.  
“Indeed.” Metatron offered the scroll to his nephew. “You are to be detained and not allowed to return to the Horsemen.”  
“What!?” Azrael all but ripped the fragile parchment from the other’s hold. Beside him, the lavender-clad healer’s eyes started to widen in fear. “Why...?” He paled when reading the missive. “They... know I have a child with War...” He blinked, looking at the four-winged male beside him. “How?”  
“Does that matter?” It seemed like all colours except various shades of blue had disappeared from the shining reflections of the ivory robes.  
“I cannot let you leave.” Uriel affirmed, several of the Champions beside her aiming their cannons at the Fallen beside the Watcher of the Well.  
“You leave her alone.” Azrael opened one wing to shield the female. “Gremory, once all the children are here, return to the fortress.”  
“But what about...?” Her orange eyes flitted to a child that was being brought back just then. The little girl had bright blue eyes, being the eldest of the group.  
“She’ll join you.” The mother of said child immediately stated.  
“I...” Uriel actually recoiled at the glare she got when she started talking. “Lord Raphael...”  
“What’s going on?” Grace looked at the two adults that had taken her to the outpost.  
“Nothing of concern.” Azrael reached over to her, resting his hand on her head. “Mommy can handle it.”  
Despite his assurance, the fact that he had revealed their relationship while having told her to keep it secret told her that something was up.  
Nephilim instincts activated and she beat her wings to fly up and cling to her parent. Clutching the silk of his robes, she pressed herself against him.  
“What in Creation...!?” One of the guards exclaimed, staring in horror at a now-revealed part of the scholar’s neck. Azrael’s hand shot up, landing on a recently refreshed Mark. “Gremory, take her.”  
“Mommy...” Grace remained clinging to him.   
“Take her.” The mystic pulled Grace away from him. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll deal with this.”  
Gremory hesitantly reached over to take the girl, moving to the other children, several of whom were crying in fear.  
“Let them leave.” Metatron ordered sharply when the Fallen teleported the small group away and a few of the other angels moved to stop her.  
A short while after, Azrael was being escorted to the White City...   
“My Lord?” One of the guards stationed at the outpost touched down beside Metatron, who had remained alone on the marble courtyard-floor.  
“Find out who told them.” The robed male ordered evenly. “And I am not to be disturbed for the next few hours, barring emergencies on the scale of the library burning to the ground.”


	44. Chapter 43

Snarling like an agitated Minion, War strode in anger towards the gates of the Council Tower. When Gremory had told him his mate had been taken to the White City, War went straight to the City with Death and Fury at his heels . Both of them, barely succeeded in calming him enough so he wouldn't immediately raze down the whole First Kingdom in search of his mate. It took Death and Fury quite a while to reason with the guards to let them at least pass the main gate of the City. Reaching the gates of the Council's tower, War saw there were a few champions guarding the heavy golden doors. He could feel his patience slipping fast.  
Death glanced at his brother at seeing the champions. There was no doubt that War was reaching his breaking point. “War... Try to contain yourself. We DON'T need a bloodbath.”   
“They would not dare harm him.” Fury agreed, clutching her whip like it was a lifeline. She had never seen her brother in such a state. And she had seen him in plenty, including the rage when they had turned on the Charred Council for betraying them and the Lilith-mess.  
“Halt!” One of the Champions called out to them. “You may not go beyond this point: the Council is in session!” They levelled their Redemption-cannons at the three riders, eyes narrowed inside their helmets. “Begone.”  
War stood still in front of the Champions, fists clenching in rage. How he wish to tear the flying vermin in to bloody pieces. “Open. The. Damn. Doors. Pests. ”  
“War! What did I just tell you...” Death berated his hot-headed brother. Turning to the Champions, Death looked at them dead in the eyes and spoke the next sentence in a freezing voice. “Tell your superiors, that the Horsemen need to speak with them, now. It is regarding Azrael. ”  
“I can assure you that after what was done, this will not happen.” The leader of the guards stated coolly. “He will stay in the White City, well away from you...”  
Before Death could figure out what the guard meant, he heard a deafening roar behind him. Turning he suddenly felt a bone-breaking pain in his chest. He realised a few things moments later: War had transformed, then backhanded him and most importantly the small fact that the Tower was on a free-floating island with the only way a non-flying visitor reaching it being a high bridge, which he was currently falling off.  
Fury thanked the Creator she had been holding her whip already, otherwise Death would probably have been out of her reach by the time she could get to him. Even now it was a rather close call, just barely enough wrapping around his foot to ensure he did not slip free. She grunted when the momentum slammed her against the side of the bridge. That would leave a bruise. Behind her, War stormed into the tower, obliterating both the guards and the door.  
Death nearly grunted at the feeling of something wrapping around his leg. He’d have to thank her later, but right now they need to stop War.   
“That’s it, less of Azrael’s cooking for you.” Fury helped her brother onto the bridge after the both of them got him back up, rubbing her arms. She’d have a killer-muscle-ache come tomorrow. “He feeds you entirely too well.”  
“I don’t eat that much, Fury”. Death stood up, favouring his leg a bit. “Now, hurry. We need to stop War's rage tantrum before he kills someone that he ought not.”  
Both ran inside, following a trail of bloody murder to the Council Chamber.   
“Creator...” Fury blanched at the sounds coming from up ahead. She quickened her pace, running with bounds up the stairs. Death was right behind her, distress encouraging to run faster. He could only pray that they were not too late.   
“No!” Fury came to a sudden stop just inside of the doors leading right into the Chamber. “War, don’t!”  
The Nephilim in his Chaos-form had emptied the room, either by outright killing various angels trying to stop him, or causing them to fly up through the open ceiling. Right now, it seemed like he was about to kill Uriel and someone she vaguely recognized as a high-ranked official of the city.


	45. Chapter 44

Before War could skewer both the angels in front of him though, a third angel appeared, apparently teleporting right in front of the flaming beast that was the youngest Rider. Death's eyes widened marginally when the silver-armoured male used one of his wings to shield against the burning sword of his brother. Even with the golden energies shielding the snow-white feathers from the actual blade, that should hurt.  
The orange eyes widened even more when War changed back into his normal form... by no coaxing from the Rider himself. Instead, it was the new arrival which had disrupted the energies keeping Chaos-form going.  
Being reduced seemed to do nothing in regards to calming War though. Roaring, he attacked the new arrival as fiercely as he had any of the other angels. Summoning another shield over his wing, the angel caught that swing as well, jaws tensing at the strength he needed to expend to keep it going.  
"Enough!" Two magical bolts impacted just between War and his opponent, forcing him to back off unless he wanted to get them in his face. Thankfully, before the Nephilim could recover someone else interfered as well. Azrael shot down from where he had been in discussion with several others when War had stormed inside. At first he had been reluctant to interfere, but now that his mate had been momentarily stunned he made his move.  
Upon seeing his angel, the Red Rider calmed almost instantly. Shortly after Azrael joined him on the ground, the senders of the two bolts touched down as well, the two four-winged angels flanking the silver-armored male shielding Uriel and the other.  
"Are you alright?" The silk-clad female helped Uriel up as Death and Fury walked up to their brother.  
"My Lady..." Uriel nodded sharply, seeming almost mesmerized by the one helping her stand. The male that had been smashed into the ground beside her received no such luxury.  
"Not a word, Raphael." The silver-armored male snarled. "There will be words about your incompetence here."  
"Horsemen." The silk-dressed angel spoke up calmly, seemingly ignoring the possessive arm War had slung around Azrael. "I am Metatron, Chancellor of the Throne of Heaven." His four wings folded neatly at his back. "It seems we have something of a problem here."  
"It seems you are also the Chancellor of understatement as well." Fury dryly stated.  
"Perhaps." Metatron smiled gently. "Though Raphael's acting is quite extreme regarding the situation."  
"It is quite certainly extreme in any situation." Death dryly pointed out. "You entrusted Azrael to us and now you drag him away."  
"We entrusted him to you, yes." The silver-armored angel spoke up coolly. "And you abused that trust."  
"What exactly are you insinuating!?" War snarled, pulling Azrael closer.  
"War." Azrael reached for his mate's arm.  
"You do realize that it is quite hard to believe that Azrael would willingly submit to your advances." Metatron answered. "He never showed any inclinations for submission... or to start relationships with non-angels."  
"How dare you accuse me of raping him?" War just barely kept himself from throttling the angel. It was too painfully alike to what he himself had believed years ago.  
"Oh, I would not go that far, certainly." The older angel mused. "But coercion is a legitimate concern, all things considered. Azrael did wonder at the lightness of his sentence. It is not a stretch of the imagination he'd want to punish himself more harshly."  
The young Rider snarled at that.  
"You have quite the opinion of your Archangel." Fury pointed out.  
"I am realistic." Metatron countered. "Which is why it is obvious to me now that it is not that. It does not however mean that the problems are automatically solved."  
"You caused the problems yourselves." Death answered, gesturing to Azrael.  
"No, War did." The female answered. "He impregnated Azrael, ignoring just about any convention regarding proper conduct."  
"He was willing in joining me in my bed." War darkly answered. "That is the only thing that matters."  
"For Nephilim, perhaps." The angel that had undone his chaos-form spoke up, one wing half-shielding Raphael. "For angels, you have insulted us, completely disregarding the Codex Bellum and ruining Azrael's reputation." He summoned a sword. "For that, I challenge you, Horseman, to Puer Sacramentum."  
There were various sharp intakes of breath at that, one of the loudest being from Azrael.  
"And what makes you think you have any right to challenge me over my mate?" War's grip on Chaoseater tightened, the black blade singing for the blood of the impudent angel.  
"I have the only right." The angel countered. "He is my son and you dishonored him."  
War's scowl tightened, but as Azrael made no move to refute that statement, he was forced to assume that it was true. He might actually have snarled a bit when he gently pushed his mate aside. "If you wish it that so much... I'll gladly make you regret this challenge." He heard a choked sound behind him.  
"I propose the central arena of the White City in a month." The silk-dressed female answered, arms crossed as she glowered at the youngest Rider.


	46. Chapter 46

“Out of curiosity...” Death looked at the angel beside him. The male looked like any other citizen of the White City, but looks were deceiving: it was the Fallen’s Commander who had insisted on coming as well. “What was Abaddon? A Second-Generation?”  
“Third.” Caim answered, sitting beside the Nephilim while looking around the Arena. The venerable building was filled to capacity, with angels even flying in the air above. The fact that a Firstborn would measure himself against a Horseman had turned this Puer Sacramentum into a spectacle. “One of the eldest Third, but Third nonetheless. He was a grandson of the General that cast me from the legions.”  
“How does that work anyway?” Death’s eyes were firmly set on Azrael and Caim’s parents on the other side of the arena. They were with three other angels, all of which had been identified by the Fallen as the other surviving Firstborn.  
“Generation is just ‘shortest way to Firstborn in family-lineage’.” Caim muttered, searching for his brother in the crowd on the other side. “Then there’s also ‘of the line of X’ which traces back through the same-sex parent to the Firstborn at the beginning of it. Me and Azrael are the only ones of the Line of Rahab.”  
“Complicated.” The Nephilim Firstborn stated dryly.  
“Angels.” Azrael’s elder brother shrugged. He turned his attention down to the arena where his father had stopped talking with the other Firstborn and moved to the centre of the sandy ground. War had been waiting for him quite a while already, not having moved the entire time. “Let’s hope your brother can deal with this one.”  
The start-signal sounded and Rahab took to the air immediately, floating about an angel-length above the ground. His wife watched with great intend as her husband took to the air while she moved to sit beside her youngest son.  
War didn't take his eyes of the angel, remembering both Abaddon's tricks and Caim’s warnings. He hoped that the elder angel wouldn't pull too many on him.  
The Firstborn's eyes narrowed as he rushed the Horseman, swinging his sword in a wide arc. His opponent dashed away from the attacking angel, jumping and slashing at his back. His sword scrapped against the armour between the angel's wings.  
Rahab heard the scrapping sound and even while still hurtling forward with his momentum turned so he faced where the Horseman would land. Raising his sword, he slammed it into the ground, a sharp wall of red energy shooting forward. The Horseman managed to dodge, but the angel grinned when seeing that a shred of red cloth floating down to the arena-ground.  
War summoned Ruin, so the horse would attack the angel from behind. He thanked the Creator the angel had not minded Ruin-summoning. While Ruin materialized behind the angel, he reared up to smash against the angel with his hooves. Azrael’s father noticed too late and tried to dive aside. A sickening crack sounded, though he did not make a sound as one of his legs was broken by the horse. Ruin ran towards his master and War mounted him. He clenched his teeth as the Horseman mounted. Taking to the air, he put himself out of reach and swung his sword down to the ground. Light raced down, spreading out over the sand. He quite enjoyed the sight of the horse stumbling, disappearing in a torrent of flame and ash.  
War rolled off his falling steed, managing to land on his feet – though not exactly gracefully. Pissed off he looked up at the angel who was healing his broken leg. He couldn't exactly reach him up there. Angered, he smashed the wall beside him so it crumbled. He grabbed one of the larger pieces and chucked it up at Azrael's father.  
Not this time, Horseman. In one quick move, he used his sword as a club to smash the piece of stone aside. He concentrated, reaching out with his mind towards the other pieces of rubble. Several of the pieces shot forward, though they missed War. At least there was now a nice cloud of dust. He dove down, hiding in the swirling soot.  
War used Stoneskin on himself, trying to spot the angel by listening for beating wings, but the Firstborn beat him to acting, sending a shock-wave outward, grinning when he heard it connect against something. Now they were talking.  
War felt the shock hitting him, Stone falling in pieces onto the ground. But thanks to the shock-wave he knew in which direction to go. He used Tornado Slash, a torrent of flame following his sword. Though he did not hit the angel, he saw the disturbed dust from where the elder male had dodged.  
Shards of glass rained down below him, the dust having been melted by the fire’s heat. Now he saw the Horseman, though the Horseman had also seen him. He climbed higher, only to sharply dive down again at the top of his flight. Hitting his sword on the ground and creating a shock wave, from his body came a flash of light, which ended in five long rays of light, injuring the Rider.   
War suddenly found himself face-first on the ground, groaning lightly. Standing up, he dashed towards Rahab, when he was only a few meters from him, he summoned a Blade Geyser which hit the angel.  
Rahab cried out in pain this time, but managed to fly up out of War's reach.   
War summoned Ruin again, using the appearing horse as a jumping-board to get to the angel. Azrael's father managed to dodge, but was now low above the ground again.  
Using the flight of the Horseman to his advantage, Rahab summoned a small shield-bubble around him. It wouldn't hold much of the other’s attacks, but some at least.  
Using his Shadow-wings, War landed gently. Fuelling his sword with Wrath, he smashed the black blade against the shield. It cracked, shattered, but also took all momentum out of the swing so the angel managed to get away unharmed.  
Now that the Horseman was firmly in range, Rahab swung his sword. It hit War square in the back, flooring the Nephilim.  
Ruin dashed towards the angel so he had to dodge instead of finishing War off. With a grunt War stood up again, his back hurting like fucking Hell.   
Snarling decidedly un-angellike at the horse, Rahab drove his sword into the ground, sending out a massive shockwave over the entire arena. Ruin cried out in pain, disappearing again and War got flung away like a ragdoll, landing on the mound of rubble he had created earlier.  
War smashed into the rubble back-first, moaning in agony. Creator, he had not expected the Firstborn to be this potent! With a mighty heave he grabbed one of the biggest pieces, flinging it in the direction of the angel. An outcry of pain sounded, followed by the sound of breaking bones. The Firstborn had not managed to dodge that one.  
Rahab smashed against the ground, feeling the crushing weight of a substantial boulder on top of him. He did not even have the strength to groan when light appeared beside him. The weight was gone, disappearing right alongside his consciousness.  
Laylah hurled the rock away from her husband, falling to her knees in worry. He lived... he yet lived.


	47. Chapter 45

“Are you alright?” Caim demanded in worry when the three Horsemen returned with his younger brother. “What in Creation happened!?”   
The younger angel was completely distraught.  
“Your father challenged War.” Death darkly stated. “Apparently, the relationship was not ‘appropriate’.”  
“To Puer Sacramentum!?” One of the Fallen exclaimed. It was the only challenge that could be expected in such a situation.  
“Yes.” War’s hand twitched lightly. “Killing my father-in-law... Not what I expected to be doing for Grace’s sixth birthday.”  
“Well, you better not do that.” Gremory watched as Grace shot to her mother. “By the rules, Puer Sacramentum is until defeat, not death. In fact, the side that dies, wins on account of not being willing to give up the... subject...”  
“Small mercies.” Fury answered, crossing her arms. “Though this is War we’re talking about.”  
“I can defeat people without killing them, you know.” The youngest Nephilim snarled.   
“The question will be if you can defeat my father.” Caim still sat beside his brother, one wing protectively curled around the scholar.  
“I defeated Heaven’s Greatest Warrior, one jumped-up bird will be no trouble after him.” The golem-arm tightened. “I’ll show your father what-for.”  
“Our father is not Abaddon, he’s worse.” The Fallen’s Commander stated, one hand resting on Azrael’s shoulder. “Our parents are Firstborn.”  
The reaction to that was instantaneous. The Fallen in earshot flinched, wings twitching between horrified floofing and instinctive tightening-against-back.  
“Firstborn?” Strife had entered just before that statement.  
“I’m sure you can imagine what that means.” The elder angel gestured to Death. “It means the same as it did with the Nephilim... Firstborn are the eldest of our race, the ones that defined what it means to be an angel... The ones that set all the standards we now measure ourselves by. Well, the unFallen, that is.”  
“And your parents are still alive...?” Andras meeped. “Holy Hell...”  
“Shouldn’t we have heard of them before then?” Death demanded, orange eyes narrowing behind his mask.  
“Firstborn are revered as divine beings just this side of the Creator.” Kunopegos answered. “But they are all but recluses these days. They haven’t bothered with any kind of politics or something for... well, forever.”  
“Since shortly after the Nephilim started moving on their conquest.” Azrael sighed softly, arms around Grace. “The same reason demons like Samael and the Dark Prince no longer go to war themselves. They are deemed too powerful, too important to risk for something as fiddly as combat.”  
“So what does that mean regarding your father’s combat-ability?” War’s face was unmoved, one hand still holding Chaoseater.  
“It means he taught Abaddon, back in the day.” Azrael patted his daughter’s platinum hair. “That he was one of the few that could best Abaddon if his mind was set on it. Abaddon was Heaven’s greatest warrior, yes, but no student can ever fully surpass their teacher.”  
“And more importantly, the Firstborn never truly specialized.” Caim got up slowly. “They could not afford to, as there were simply not enough of them at first. Expect far more magic-use than Abaddon, War, and combat that is many different kinds together.” He crossed his arms. “Expect him healing himself with ease if given the opportunity. There is a reason why our parents are the only surviving Firstborn-couple. We can be glad that they did not make it a dual-combatant’s challenge.”  
War’s scowl marginally darkened at that.  
“Wait... ‘couple’?” Gremory paled. “Is that how Heaven found out?” She looked at Azrael with wide eyes.  
“No.” He shook his head in answer. “If they had talked, this would not have happened six years late.”   
Fury raised an eyebrow in question.  
“There’s only one Firstborn couple left after all these eons.” Vapula stood next to Azazel. “Though there are more than those two, all others either lost their spouses or never had any. Makes it quite easy to figure out who they are.”  
“Rahab, Angel of Death, Destruction and the Sea.” Azazel muttered, a hint of reverence even in the voice of the mad smith of the Fallen.  
“And Laylah, Angel of Night and Conception.” Naamah added, throwing a brief glance at Grace. “She knows all children that are conceived, be they Angel, Demon or whatever.”  
“So your parents would have known the moment...” Death pointed at Grace briefly.  
“Yes.” Azrael nodded. “Which is why they were not responsible for this reveal. They’d have done so upon finding out, not waited for years, no matter how poor our relationship became after Caim’s Fall.”


	48. Chapter 47

Azrael was breathing heavily, clutching the backrest of the seat in front of him. His father was unconscious, but War did not look much better.  
“Neither combatant is able to fight.” Metatron called out. “There is no winner.” Two healers moved down to Rahab and Laylah.  
“It seems my Husband and the Rider are evenly matched.” Laylah gave them room, looking to the two Nephilim at the other side of the arena. “Let their seconds proceed with the battle in their stead.” A bright light formed in her hand, becoming a long staff Death recognized as the Rod of Arafel. There was no doubt she intended to be her husband’s.  
He used one of the Life-stones they had brought on his youngest brother. “I am not looking forward to this.” He fought to kill, not wound. And no doubt, she’d not let him do anything else...  
“I’ll fight for the Horseman!” A voice came from above. An average looking angel had flown up from his seat to move into the arena.  
“What...?” The Firstborn Nephilim hissed as the volunteer touched down in front of them. “Caim...”  
“Do you honestly think you can defeat her without killing her? I know your track-record, Death.” The Fallen’s commander darkly countered while the two healers moved his father away.   
“And you think you can!?” Death dragged War back to his feet.   
“I just need to flash my black wings and she’ll kill me.” Caim’s hands tightened into a fist. “Now go.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Her face was unmoved as the Nephilim left the arena, regarding the angel facing her with cool indifference. If he dared face her, he’d better also prepared to face the consequences of such a foolish act. Though there was something off about him...  
Several illusions of the ancient angel appearing around the poor deluded fool who thought he could take her on. The moment they flew towards Caim, he managed to summon his staff and dispel about the half of the illusions. He began to dodge the others, flying away gracefully.   
As her remaining images passed him, one of them swiftly turned, blasting him point-blank in the back.   
Grinding his teeth against the pain, Caim launched a shock-wave of dark light to cancel the remaining illusions. He could not fight several versions of his mother. Cursing, he realised too late that that wasn't quite angelic.   
So that was what was wrong about the other. Her eyes narrowed at him. Her energy moved outward, pushing him away from her.   
Feeling the push the Fallen braced himself, avoiding being pushed too far away from her. He needed to get closer to her: close-quarter-combat had been one of her weaknesses, back in the day. He summoned a large group of phantom birds to attack her.  
She incinerated the phantoms, faint glowing ashes falling to the ground. Roaring, not so much in body as in mind, she send forth a different kind of shock-wave, not aimed at the body, but at the arcane magics all around them. She presumed he felt nothing, but his wings were now jet-black like a starless night. “Fallen.”  
Oh, fuck. He could literately the silence spread throughout the arena. Then it was shattered by many angelic voices yelling in unison. “Kill The Fallen!”   
“This battle is not yet over.” Laylah spoke, voice echoing in a thousand minds. “Seconds are freely chosen or offered, even among outsiders. The Horseman did not refute him, and so he will do battle. AND THE ONLY ONE WHO HARMS HIM AM I!!”  
Dark spells swirled around his fist, he charged at her after some brief hesitation. Spells shot towards her, managing to hit her and drain her. It was one of the darkest spell favoured by the Fallen: draining the arcane energies of the target.  
She hissed in pain. Instead of resisting, she allowed her energy to flow to him in far too great amounts, overloading his draining-ability. “You will be burned to ashes ere you drain me dry!” Her energies turned her into a beacon of light, blinding the Fallen. In answer, he flew away from her, struggling to shake off the blindness.  
Lightning arched towards the black-winged male, hitting one of the darkened appendages and paralysing it. It would be temporary, but not temporary enough for him to escape his new date with the ground.  
Grunting, Caim pushed himself up from the sandy ground, spitting out the dirt he had swallowed and rose up shakily from the floor. He looked up at the female floating above him. His affected wing twitched, half paralysed. It seemed he needed to continue the battle on foot for now. Creating a dark-energy orb, he aimed it at the female.  
She had not expected him to recover this fast. She hissed when his attack glanced against one of her wings. Calling upon her magics, she countered likewise. Too bad he had already dodged by the time it hit the ground. She shot down after it, hitting the ground to form a dust-cloud much like her husband had.  
The dust blanketed him and he used the cover to create a double ganger, and send it to attack his mother.   
She cried out in surprise and pain at the unexpected attack. Blood tainted her dress. In return, she cast out her energies violently, incinerating her attacker.  
Wincing at the yell of his mother and how quickly she incinerated his double, he forced himself to remember that his parents didn't matter anymore, only his brother.   
Gathering her energies, she unleashed them, torrents of flames raging down to the ground, where they hit the Fallen hard. The adrenaline of the pain fuelled her powers.  
Feeling flames torching him, he hissed out the last part of the enchantment. Darkness crawled over him, dulling his pain. Sludge-like shadows slithered over him, covering him with their protection. With several mighty wing-beats, he shot up from the dust cloud. He slammed into her, actually feeling bones break under his assault.  
She gasped in pain. Her jaw tightened and she transformed in a way much like the Fallen had done, only then scorching light instead of shadow. She broke free from his hold, healing her wounds while backing away. “So this is how it is, ‘Caim’? You want me to kill you?”  
He lashed out at her, trying to force her down to the ground. “I’m surprised you’re controlling yourself enough not to do that.”  
“You wound me...” Their staffs met with a sound more alike to Redemption-fire than metal meeting metal. “and misjudge me.”  
“Pretty certain all Firstborn are the same.” Caim snarled, black wings beating the air as he tried to force her down to the ground.  
“You forget who wrote what parts of the Codex.” Her four wings struggled to counter him. “Your parents did not write the parts about the Fallen... or the Puer Sacramentum.”  
He briefly hesitated at that statement.  
“Come now, boy, I am the Angel of Conception.” She managed to direct his downwards thrust past her, making him shoot down to the ground. “Do you honestly think I cannot tell who is who, Haniel!? Do you honestly think I cannot tell who was involved in someone’s conception!?” Torching fire roared down from the unending skies above the White City, crashing against a barely formed shield. “FOOL!”  
The shield shattered into a million pieces.


	49. Epilogue

War heavily trudged to his daughter when they returned to the fortress. “Grace.” Pain could be clearly heard from his voice.   
Horror filled Fury's face as she was starting to realize what had happened in the White City and why Death had made a summon for Strife just a bit ago... Her eyes followed Strife as he moved Caim inside.  
“Where's mommy?” Grace asked, still beaming at her father. She had not yet realized that Azrael's absence meant.  
Swallowing, War took a deep breath. “Grace, Azrael is not coming back to us... We... I …” He found it difficult to admit to his child – even to himself – that Azrael would not be with them anymore.  
“But...” She looked around. “But you promised me...” Tears started to form in her eyes. “You promised!”  
“I failed... Grace, I'm so sorry. ” The Rider reached out to his crying child.  
“NO!” She moved back. “You lied! You promised me I would keep mommy forever!” She whimpered. “You lied to me!”  
Feeling something break within him at her moving away from him, War tried again: “Grace...”  
“You promised me that mommy would come back!” She wailed. “I hate you! I hate you!” She turned on her proverbial heel, shooting into the fortress, her sobs floating back to those outside.  
Death grabbed War's arm when he felt him nearly toppling over at Grace's angry wails. He guided War inside the fort. But when he headed to the tower-room, he heard him whisper brokenly: “No, not there, anywhere but there...” The eldest Nephilim brought him to his own room after that.   
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“She hates me...”  
Death looked up from his scrolls; this was the first time War had spoken since two hours. Before he only staid on the bed, staring unblinkingly at the wall in front of him. “No, she doesn't. She's hurting and most likely angry at you. Most beings tend to say the most hurtful things when they are upset.”  
Someone knocked on the door and Fury peeked inside. She carried a tray of food. “You must regain your strength, War.”  
War looked listlessly at the tray; he felt no desire to eat. Shaking his head, he replied: “I am not hungry.” He only felt sadness and emptiness.  
Death sighed. “You need to, brother. You need your strength and you need to speak to your child, War.”   
“She needs you now.” Fury agreed with her eldest brother, holding out a piece of bread. “At least eat something if you can't finish everything.”  
Realising that Fury and Death were right, War began slowly chew on the food. Still, he found it difficult to swallow.  
Fury shared a worried glance with Death, but let her brother eat at his own pace.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Let's try over there.” Strife suggested when there was no reaction to the Fallen's calls as they moved through the fortress. “She'll have gone to something that reminds her of Azrael...” He headed for the room in which they had put the vast collection of pillows Azrael had gathered when he had been 'nesting'.  
After opening the door, Caim called out again. “Grace?”  
There was a shift in the mountain of pillows, but no actual answer. Strife softly closed the door behind him.  
Seeing the movement, the Fallen’s Commander walked slowly to the pillows. “Grace? Can you please talk to us, dear?” He asked in a soft tone.  
“Go away!” Came a muffled voice from beneath the pillows. “Leave me alone! You lied to me!”  
Still heading for the mount of pillows, Caim replied gently. “We didn't intend to break that promise. Things sometimes happen beyond our control.”  
Grace did not answer, but now that they were close, both men could hear soft sobbing coming from her hiding-spot.  
Kneeling near the pillows, Caim lifted a few of them off the pile until he could see the young crying girl. “Grace?” He remained there, wings and arms opened.  
She was a sorry sight: the immaculate appearance Azrael had always insisted upon had been ruined by her mad dash through the fortress. One of her braids had opened, leaving her hair a mess. Her dress was dirty and crumbled and her face was red and puffy from two hours of non-stop crying. She whimpered softly, cuddling into the pillows that carried her mother's scent still.  
“He promised...” She whimpered, clutching the pillow she was on top off. The fact that her father had seemingly broken his promise was a blow almost equal in strength to losing her mother. He had been her hero...  
With a sigh, Caim replied: “I know dear. He never meant to break that promise. He is just as sad that he couldn't keep it for you.” Gently he picked both Grace and the pillow up and cradled them between his arms and wings, slowly rocking her.  
A new flood of tears started. “I want mommy!” Grace wailed, burying herself in her uncle's hold. “I want my mommy back.”  
“I know, little one. We all want him back.” Holding her more tightly, he kept rocking her. He rubbed her back in comfort.  
Strife leaned down. “I'll tell the others we found her.” He whispered, gently stroking Grace's hair briefly before he headed out of the room.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Eating barely half of the food Fury had brought for him, War slowly got up.   
Taking the tray, Fury looked at it sadly before heading out to return it to the kitchen. As she opened the door, Strife was in front of it, seemingly poised to knock.  
“Found Grace?”, Death asked the Gunner.  
“She buried herself in the nesting-pillows.” Strife shrugged lightly. “I left Caim with her.” He looked after Fury as she headed down the corridor. It was times like these he really hated.  
“Can I see her?” War asked, his voice low and hoarse.  
“You lost her mother, you tell me.” Strife shrugged again, having to force himself to remain his crude and sneering ‘self’. Inside, he was dying to hug his youngest brother.  
The youngest Nephilim cringed at the harsh words: they clearly reminded him that he had failed everybody.   
“Strife, that's enough!” Death hissed at the Gunner.   
“Sure, whatever...” The middle brother raised his hands. “She’s in the attic, the room with the nesting-pillows. Go wild.”  
Wordlessly War stood up and walked passed Strife straight out of the room.   
Death got up to leave as well but before he left the room, he told Strife in a grave voice: “I know you like to aggravate us, Strife, but that was low. Even for your standards. ” He then left the room.  
“As if you know my standards...” Strife snarled lowly, watching them go.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Grace peeked over Caim’s shoulder when she heard someone approach.   
War headed to the door leading into the room with the pillows and knocked a few times.  
“Who is it?” The elder angel called out, still rocking his niece gently. Hearing War's voice answering, he looked down at Grace. “Ready to see your daddy?”  
She seemed to shrink in his hold, but nodded lightly.  
After hearing his brother-in-law calling to him to come inside, War lightly pushed the door open. At seeing the state of his child, he felt his heart sink even deeper. She looked terrible. Heading to the cuddling duo, he began to wonder what he could say to her. Nothing he could say to her would bring Azrael back.   
A new flood of tears formed in her eyes when she saw her daddy. Reaching for him, she whimpered softly. “Daddy...”  
In silence Caim handed Grace over to her father. Once the Nephilim held her, he got up and left so the two could be alone with each other.   
Feeling his child shiver in his arms, War sat down on the ground and while still holding her tight, he'd also rocked her as well.   
She snuggled into his hold, clinging to him.  
After a few minutes hugging Grace, War whispered to her. “I'm sorry that I failed you and your mother.”  
She whimpered briefly. “Why did they take Mommy from me?” She finally whispered, looking up at him with her puffy eyes.  
“Some of them don't like the idea of me and your mother being together.” He admitted to his child. Particularly Azrael’s parents, apparently.   
“But... shouldn’t his parents be happy?” She asked. “I mean... parents are happy when their kids are happy, right? Why did they make us sad?”  
“I... can't say for sure, Grace. They never really told me their reason.” Even though he wasn't really sure about Azrael's parents, he could imagine what some of the angels thought about his and Azrael's union.   
“But...” Her lip wibbled. “Why!?” She simply could not understand why someone would do something like this to their own family.  
“I don't know, Grace. I don't know.” War muttered downhearted to his child.  
She started crying again. She wanted to know why she had lost her mother, but no answer was forth-coming.


End file.
